


Kill For You

by MintSauce



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: F/M, Hints at suicide, M/M, but it's not really, warnings for domestic violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-12
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-05 02:53:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 57,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/718042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MintSauce/pseuds/MintSauce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey knows there aren't a lot of things he's good at. Not a lot he can offer Ian. And he shouldn't even want to offer it to him, but Mickey can definitely kill for him. Multi chap. Warning: hints of suicide attempts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Mandy didn't come to see him often and when she did, they didn't actually do much more than talk about random shit and pull faces at each other through the glass. He thought it was weird that she was coming to see him now, he was out in a week, so there was no fucking point really. But still, there she was, sitting on the other side of the glass, waiting for him to be led out.

He'd served three years already for GBH, a sentence which hadn't been helped by the fact Mickey's only statement was: "The stupid prick deserved it." He'd sort of made a name for himself on the inside, which coupled with the fact he was a Milkovich and jail was like their territory or some shit, he was treated like a fucking King. Or at least like a King that everybody avoided. Plus, it wasn't so bad because the doctor who ran the little shitty infirmary attached to the jail was as much of a fag as Mickey was; so he wasn't even going without while being in jail.

It all would have been great if he'd actually been able to think of the guy he was fucking while he was fucking him. No, instead Mickey kept thinking about some stupid guy he hadn't seen in what? Like six years?

"The fuck you doing here?" he asked, throwing himself down into the shitty plastic chair and holding the receiver against his ear.

His sister looked like shit. She had huge bags under her eyes and she was paler than usual. She was also missing the usual rubbish she plastered on her face. He wondered if it might be the pregnancy, but he didn't think so.

"I just needed someone to talk to," she said, her voice low, her eyes pleading and even Mickey wasn't that much of a dick to turn his own sister away when she obviously needed him.

"What's up?" he asked, rubbing his bottom lip with a finger, "Lip being a tool or something, cause you know I can't rough him up from the inside, you'll have to wait a week."

Mandy offered him a weak smile, because they both knew sticking up for Mandy was the only reason he was in this shithole in the first place. That was why the prick had deserved it. Nobody broke his baby sister's heart and got away with it. He supposed it had all worked out for the best anyway since she'd now ended up with Lip. And Mickey may have something against all Gallaghers, at the moment, just because, but he knew the guy really liked his sister, so he could tolerate it.

"We're just all kind of stressed out at the moment," she said, shrugging, but that didn't stop him from noticing the depth of the pain in her eyes, "Because of what happened to Ian, you know?"

That made him scowl, because his heart wasn't supposed to trip up in his chest. "No," he heard himself saying, his voice dead, "I don't know."

"Oh," she didn't look like she wanted to tell him, but Mickey was going to find out whether or not he had to throw himself through the glass and throttle it out of his sister, he was going to find out, "Well someone kind of tried to kill Ian because he was gay and Lip had to hit them in the head with a baseball bat to get him off of Ian."

She looked like she was about to cry. Mickey didn't think he could breathe.

"And now Ian won't leave the house because he's too scared and he's freaking out because once the guy's jaw heals, he's going to have to testify and he really doesn't want to," Mandy explained and Mickey thought he was going to be sick.

"What's the guy's name?" Mickey heard himself ask, his mind moving at a thousand miles a minute, his thoughts tripping over each other. Because if this guy was waiting to testify until he healed up, Mickey knew where he'd be and that was something Mickey could work with.

"Ray Newland," she said, looking at him strangely, "Why?"

Mickey just shrugged, "No reason."

Nobody could ever say Mickey didn't have a talent, because two hours later he already had the whole plan figured out in his head. And add an hour onto that and he already had his fuck buddy backed up against the wall of his office. The excuse as to why Mickey had check-ups every two days was because his leg was playing up, the one he'd been shot in so long ago. Nobody even suspected a thing.

Including, his fuck buddy's wife.

And really, it was just so easy to blackmail him into getting what he wanted. It turned out Mickey was right as well, which was a new thing if he was being honest. The guy, Ray Newland was in the room over from Mickey at that very moment, handcuffed to the bed with screws in his jaw to keep it in place while it healed. There was only one room in the infirmary, so that made Mickey's plan even easier.

His fuck buddy looked at him like he'd lost the plot when he told him what he had to do, but Mickey just shrugged. He thought he'd probably lost it a long time ago. It was a Milkovich thing. "I really don't give a shit, you gonna help me out or what?" he asked and the 'or what' bit was definitely: _do you want me to rat you out as being a fag?_  And this guy had a wife and three kids, so he definitely wasn't going to do that.

"Yeah," he grudgingly admitted, "I'll help you, but I just don't understand why you'd want to do this, you get out in a week!"

Mickey shrugged, "He hurt someone I owe something to."

Which wasn't strictly true. Mickey didn't technically owe Gallagher anything, except actually, he maybe sort of did.

"An ex?"

Mickey scowled, but didn't hit him because that wouldn't have helped out his plan. "Never got that far," he replied, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. He didn't like talking about Gallagher, didn't like thinking about him even, but it always seemed to be unavoidable.

His fuck buddy – Lewis, Mickey didn't know his first name and didn't particularly care either – wisely left the conversation at that and called the guards back to take Mickey to his cell again. He behaved for the rest of the day, not wanting to do anything to fuck up his plan. He thought it was a pretty amazing plan, one of the smartest things he'd ever come up with if he was being honest. Then again, Mickey didn't exactly do many things that were smart, so there wasn't much competition.

He traded two packs of cigarettes for a razorblade and trapped his last cigarette between his lips as he settled himself against the back wall of his cell. He sucked on it almost frantically, but it wasn't because he was scared. No, Mickey wasn't scared, he just thought it was fucking stupid that he was here because of Ian Gallagher. He'd actually already sort of accepted that he'd felt _something_  for the guy once upon a time, because sometimes Mickey could admit things to himself. Especially when he was sitting alone in Isolation with nothing to do but think. He'd never admit to having feelings, he liked everyone thinking he was soulless, but still, he hated moments like these when he realised that for some reason he still gave a shit.

He flicked what remained on the cigarette away and his hand didn't even shake as he took the razor blade, holding it so tight his knuckles turned white. He'd timed it out. He'd worked out that he had about four minutes until his cellmate came back to the cell for lights out. He figured that was long enough to not bleed out completely.

Slitting his wrists fucking hurt, there were no two ways about it. It felt like his arms were burning and it was horrible because once he'd slit the first one, he knew he had to do the second as well, the blade already slippy with his blood. But he was a Milkovich and he wasn't some fucking pussy, so he just gritted his teeth and did it. And then there wasn't much else to do but sit there and hope he didn't fucking die before he got to the end of his plan.


	2. Chapter 2

It felt like Mickey had been drained dry.

His head fucking hurt and his movements felt sluggish, his eyelids heavy as he opened them. It took a second for everything to focus and he thought for a minute or so that he'd failed and gone and fucking died or some shit, because everything was so white. But no, he was in the jail's infirmary, strapped down to the bed.

His ankles and wrists were bound and he had a strap across his chest as well. The straps on his wrists were actually on his forearms tough he realised because he had thick bandages tied around his wrists. It actually took him a minute to realise why the hell they were there.

"Good, you're awake," Lewis' face appeared above him, "I knew it couldn't be much longer."

Lewis worked to untie him from the bed and Mickey just lay there, still feeling a little groggy, listening to the sound of his own heart beating in his ears.

"Your medical chart says you've been given enough sedative to keep you under for another two hours, so nobody knows your awake," Lewis explained, "I'll put you back under when you. . . done." That word done hung heavy in the air, was filled with so much. Lewis' eyes were wide, almost pleading when he looked at Mickey next, "You sure I can't talk you out of this?"

"Positive," Mickey muttered and his voice came out like a croak.

He sat up slowly and rubbed his eyes with arms that felt like they were weighed down. The bandages around his wrists itched, but he supposed that that was the stitches. He didn't feel any pain and he put that down to the painkillers he was no doubt pumped full of.

"You can leave the room if you want," he muttered, because Lewis was looking sort of green, but the man stubbornly shook his head.

Mickey moved off of his bed slowly, walking on unsteady legs towards the man in the other bed. He looked like a twat, Mickey thought his face was stupid and maybe he was just biased or angry or some shit, but still. He took his shirt off and picked up a scalpel off of the side with it, because Mickey was smart when it came to killing people, he knew about fingerprints and all that shit.

The guy's head was locked in place by the vice that was making sure his jaw staying in place and there was a tube that fed him stuff up his nose, no doubt going down his throat. He was awake though when Mickey leant over him and Mickey made sure to smile. It wasn't a nice smile and Mickey saw the guy's eyes widen, wondered if he knew what was coming.

"I don't like people messing with Gallagher," Mickey said, his voice low and dangerous, "So have fun in hell, will probably be seeing you there in a few years."

The guy screamed through his wired up jaw as Mickey slit his throat and he knew it was sick, but Mickey wanted to make sure, so he stood there and watched as the guy's throat bled out all down the front of his shirt and as he started struggling and thrashing, until finally he just stopped moving all together.

Mickey dropped the scalpel on the bed, made sure he wiped the handle clean and then put his shirt back on and lay down on his own bed again. He was impressed, he hadn't even gotten a single drop of blood on his shirt. Lewis seriously looked like he was about to be sick, but a glare from Mickey sorted that right out and he obligingly strapped Mickey back down onto the bed, exactly as he had been before.

"Remind me to never get on your bad side," he muttered as he readied the shit that'd knock Mickey out for another hour or so, "And to never go near this guy Gallagher."

Mickey just smirked as he felt the needle stab into his vein. Yeah, he couldn't do a lot, but he could definitely kill. And he'd kill any day for Gallagher. He hated that he knew that.

When he woke up, everything was a flurry of activity.


	3. Chapter 3

Ian watched Mandy pace about and wished she'd stop. She was kind of freaking him out and also he'd heard stress wasn't good for pregnant women. Mandy was definitely stressed. Although admittedly, they were all pretty on edge since they'd gotten the news that the guy Ian had to testify against, the guy who'd tried to kill him, had had his throat slit in his hospital bed. They didn't have a fucking clue who'd done it, Ian only wanted to know so that he could thank them.

It actually helped a little to know that he was never going to have to face the guy. Before it had just been this fear of having to testify, because he knew if he didn't Lip would get into trouble for hitting him with a baseball bat, but at the same time, if he did, he felt like he'd always be looking over his shoulder. The story that had been in the newspaper said it was an attempted mugging; because Ian didn't want to come out.

He wasn't stupid and he wasn't suicidal, coming out in this neighbourhood would have been both.

He shared a flat with Lip and Mandy and soon enough with their newborn as well. Ian was sort of looking forwards to that, because he was so used to a house that was fit to burst, constant noise almost. He missed it a little. That and he loved kids.

"Does my brother strike you as suicidal?" Mandy asked him suddenly, making him frown.

"Which one?"

She rolled her eyes and looked like she wanted to punch him. "Like I give a shit about the others," she said, "Mickey, dumbass, I'm talking about Mickey."

And that was someone that Ian hadn't heard about for so long. Mickey was never mentioned even in passing, for some reason a sensitive subject even though Ian didn't know why he had been. He knew Mickey was back in jail, for GBH this time and he sort of thought that was typical. Mandy got really defensive of Mickey though when someone talked about him being in jail and Ian figured there was probably more to it than Mickey just getting pissed off for no reason.

"Suicidal as in: he doesn't give a shit who he pisses off?" Ian asked, "Or suicidal as in kill yourself suicidal?"

Because Mickey was definitely suicidal in that he was the type to run headfirst at a guy wielding a knife with absolutely no fear whatsoever. Watching Mickey fight had used to be terrifying, because he'd been fearless and his movements had almost seemed erratic, but it had been amazing at the same time. Nobody else could fight quite like Mickey, because as weird and terrible as it was, Mickey seemed to come alive when he fought. It was wrong, but fighting made him happy. Ian knew he loved to feel the crunch of someone's nose under his fist and that familiar soreness in his knuckles.

Ian couldn't understand that love, but he knew it the fight was the closest thing Mickey would ever come to being in love with.

"Why Mandy?" Lip asked, touching her arm briefly and she tore herself away, like she thought that if she leant into that touch, she'd crumple. Maybe she would. She looked like she wanted to, like she was about to at the very least.

"Because Mickey slit his wrists the other day," Mandy said and Ian felt each word like a stab to the heart, "He tried to kill himself in his cell and I don't understand it, because I'd been to see him that day and he'd been fine."

Ian couldn't understand Mickey wanting to kill himself either, it didn't make sense. Mickey was an aggressive person, but he was full of life. He'd always been determined to live, determined to fight. Living meant everything to Mickey. Even if he had to deny everything he was, push everyone away, that didn't matter to Mickey as long as he lived.

He felt sort of numb. "Are you sure?" he asked, because that didn't make sense to him. It just didn't.

" _Of course I'm fucking sure_!" Mandy screamed at him, but her anger switched off almost instantly, kind of reminding him of his mother, which was scary, "I just got a call from his parole officer to say that I can go pick him up a few days early because they need him out of the way for the police investigation into what happened with that guy who was killed."

There was a weird look on Lip's face, the one that said his brain was filled with too many thoughts all at once. Ian ignored it. "But Mickey wouldn't try to kill himself," he said firmly, "He just wouldn't."

Mandy shrugged. "Well it was definitely him that did it," she said, dragging her hands through her hair and collapsing onto the couch beside him, "He traded a guy two packets of cigarettes for a razor and his cellmate found him barely conscious in their cell with his wrists slit, it was definitely a suicide attempt."

But she obviously couldn't wrap her head around it either. Mickey committing suicide, that just didn't make sense.

He hadn't thought about Mickey in a long time, not since Mickey had broken his heart that second time he'd gone to Juvie. They'd avoided each other when Mickey had gotten out, but the heartbreak had lasted long enough to distract him from getting the grades to get into WestPoint and then in the end, he just hadn't tried to get into the army at all. He didn't have the heart for it, he didn't want to anymore and he didn't know why. Sometimes he thought that he could still feel the ache in his heart when he thought about Mickey and other times he wondered whether he was ever going to be in love like he thought he was in love then. Actually, he was pretty convinced it had been love, but he was also pretty convinced that it had only been one way as well. And if it wasn't reciprocated, could it really be called love?

The weird thing was that he didn't necessarily regret it. Sure, he wouldn't wish to ever feel like that ever again, not the negative part of it and not the positive part either, because now he thought that maybe being positive would only lead to having your heart broken. But the thing was that he knew that it had hardened him, feeling all of that. He thought it had made him stronger, tougher and he thought that was definitely a good thing.

The love he and Mickey had had, or at the very least the love Ian had felt had been fast and brutal and raw from the very beginning. There had been rules, but at the same time it was like there were endless possibilities spread out before them. Ian had thought anything was possible for them, he'd convinced himself that they'd make it, that they'd be anything they wanted to be. But it didn't really work when all one of you wanted was a fuck and all the other wanted was everything. They had had so many possibilities, even Mickey couldn't deny that, but Mickey had just wanted to choose all the ones Ian didn't. Ian thought maybe at the end of the day they'd just been too different. Even though the teenage him had been convinced they were fundamentally the same.

Both of them had had fucked home lives. Both were emotionally stunted to a degree. Both of them had been abandoned by their mothers, had too many siblings and would always be on the edge of society because of who they were. They'd even had completely mediocre, unimportant things in common; but looking back, Ian didn't think two people could work out just because they both liked a handful of the same bands, smoking, beer, weed, a quick hard fuck and Jell-O.

You couldn't base a relationship on Jell-O, even though Ian had definitely tried.


	4. Chapter 4

He was let out of jail early and he was pleased about that, but honestly, he was shitting himself about having to face Mandy. She'd have heard about his suicide attempt, which hadn't been a suicide attempt at all, but of course he was going to have to pretend that was what it was. He was pleased with himself how well his plan had turned out. Nobody had even interviewed him, because according to the medical chart, he'd been unconscious the entire time. As far as they were concerned, there was no way he could possibly have been involved, he just happened to be in the next bed over at the time.

The bandages were still heavy on his wrists, the stitches itchy and uncomfortable, but in a way he knew he was going to wear the scars like a reminder of how far he was willing to go. It would only be a reminder for himself, but it would count nonetheless.

When he stepped out into the sunlight, it wasn't his sister leaning there against a slightly beaten up Chevy. It was Lip. He smiled when he saw Mickey and that made him uncomfortable because nobody ever smiled at him.

"The fuck you doing here?" he asked, making sure his tone was sharp enough to make the smile fall from Lip's face.

Lip said nothing, just opened the Chevy's door and went around to the driver's side. And Mickey was smart enough to take that as an indication to get in, so he climbed in and put his feet up on the dashboard, snagging the packet of smokes that were in the cup holder.

He lit on up and cracked the window slightly, blowing smoke out into the heat of summer as Lip started up the car. The air was sticky and uncomfortable, felt heavy as he breathed in. Lip didn't say anything for a while, just slammed his foot down and let Mickey lie there dozing off. Mickey blamed the weather for the fact he dozed and he blamed the fact he dozed for the reason why he didn't realise Lip was actually heading out of Chicago.

He stopped the car when Mickey realised and shouted, "What the fuck!" at him.

"How did you do it?" Lip asked, staring at him in a way that made Mickey uncomfortable now in a new way.

"What the fuck are you talking about, Gallagher?" Mickey snapped, because he didn't actually realise for a minute or so, "Where the hell are we going?"

"I'm not going anywhere," Lip said, like that was obvious, "You are."

Mickey was about to swear at him, but Lip just held up a hand, looking as calm as shit. He wondered if he was high, probably.

"You can't go back home with me, how obvious do you think that would look!" Lip asked and regrettably Mickey was starting to catch on, "I know you did it and they'll realise too if they see you living with us and find out you were the one in the next bed over."

Mickey tensed and didn't do anything other than stare.

"How the hell did you do it?" Lip asked when Mickey didn't say anything, "I'm not going to say anything, I'm glad the fucker's dead, this is my way of saying thank you, but I'm kind of stunned cause I can't work out how the hell you did it!"

Mickey frowned slightly, "How did you work it out?"

He believed Lip when he said he wasn't going to say anything, even though he shouldn't. He believed him because Lip's love for his brother had always been written all over his face and Mickey knew Lip would do anything for Ian, up to and including murder.

Lip shrugged, "Because you can deny it, but I know you used to have a thing with Ian and he's convinced you never felt anything for him, but it's not that hard to piece together if you know you two used to have a thing, Mandy told you about Ian the day you slit your wrists or that you were in the same room as the guy who was killed." He met Mickey's stare, "So how did you do it?"

"Blackmailed the doctor into lying on the medical chart and unstrapping and re-strapping me to the bed," he said, thumbing the letters on his dirty knuckles, "Then I slit my wrists to get into the room, killed the guy and was sedated again so people would think I'd been unconscious the entire time." It was simple really, if you thought about it.

"I thought I was the genius," Lip said, looking at him weirdly, "I never would have come up with that plan and I'm fucking amazing at coming up with plans."

Mickey shrugged his shoulders slightly and pushed his tongue into the corner of his mouth. "I'm good at killing shit, I'm a Milkovich, it's what we do," he said, "That and it's not like I have anything to lose, I'm gonna be back in jail a couple of times before I croak anyway."

"Great life's ambition you got there," Lip commented and Mickey just scowled at him, choosing not to comment on that one. "The tank's full of gas, the bag on the backseat has clothes, money, smokes and weed in it," he said when Mickey didn't say anything else, "And there's a case of beer in the trunk."

Mickey nodded silently. He didn't particularly want to go, but he didn't really want to stay either. He saw the logic in leaving, so he'd do it. In Mickey's brain, shit was as simple as that. "Treat my sister right or I swear to god I'll come back and fucking gut you," Mickey warned, cracking his knuckles ominously, because they both knew he would. He'd already proven how far he'd go for Mandy.

And for Ian.

"I will," Lip promised, "And take my cell too, let me know where you are so I can update you on shit."

Mickey nodded, that made sense. "If I'm going, you can't tell them where the fuck I am," he said, "If I'm going then I'm going to stay gone, it's probably better that way anyway." Nobody really needed Mickey around. Nobody even wanted him around, which he was fine with. Maybe it would be a new start or some shit. He'd heard that for some people those were good.

"Which is where we come to the last part of my plan," Lip said and climbed out of the car. Mickey did the same and stood opposite him, rubbing his bottom lip with his thumb. "Punch me in the face," Lip said, completely seriously, his hands beckoning, "I'm gonna tell them you knocked me out and took the car, so you have to hit me to make it realistic."

Mickey didn't even hesitate, just shrugged once and punched him in the face. He didn't hit him hard enough to knock him out, because he'd only wind up getting his pockets emptied as he lay there on the side of the road. Lip swore and spat blood out onto the side of the road, but looked sort of impressed. Then again, Mickey shouldn't be surprised, all of the Gallaghers were fucking nutjobs in some way or another.

"What you gonna do now?" he asked, because he felt like he should.

"Get a cab back home," Lip said, shrugging, "Good luck wherever the fuck you're going."

Mickey couldn't have told him because he honestly didn't have a clue where he was headed. Hopefully somewhere that would make him forget he ever knew someone called Ian Gallagher, because the redhead made him do shit that was only going to come back and bite him in the ass. Like murder. Only problem was, Mickey knew he'd do it again if he had to. His life was fucked up like that.


	5. Chapter 5

Lip turned up later than he was supposed to from having picked Mickey up. He'd convinced Mandy to stay home because it was a bit of a drive and she would only freak out at Mickey there and he was bound to do a runner if she did. As it turned out though, he just did a runner anyway. Lip came back with a swollen cheek and a split lip and said he'd had to catch a cab back because Mickey had knocked him out and taken off with the car.

Ian sort of thought that was predictable Mickey and judging on the way that Mandy hardly looked phased at all, he thought she did as well. She was worried about her brother, that much was obvious from the sad look in her eyes she had for the next month or so, but she knew better than to even try to change his nature. And now, Ian knew better too. He'd tried to change Mickey once, not much, but slightly. Just enough to get him to admit to his feelings.

And of course that had turned out so well.

Ian wasn't surprised Mickey had taken off, that didn't surprise him at all. What did surprise him was that Lip actually talked about him nicely and suggested the name Michael when the baby turned out to be a boy. What surprised Ian was that for some reason, he felt like he missed Mickey Milkovich, even when he got a boyfriend, even when several years passed.

Every time someone would ring who's number they didn't recognise, he knew both him and Mandy were hoping it would be Mickey. It never was.


	6. Chapter 6

**Five years later. . .**

It started with the words, "I think Lip's cheating on me."

Normally Ian was all for defending his brother, he still did then, but even he couldn't deny that there was something suspicious about Lip saying he was going away with work for the weekend just out of Chicago and yet pre-booking a train ticket to New York. For Lip, he'd been a little stupid and careless and left the details in his internet history, so it was too easy for Mandy to find it and even easier for her to book two tickets for the same train.

They followed him at what Mandy called a 'safe distance' and Ian only went along because he wanted to make sure that Mandy didn't do anything stupid. Michael was dropped off with Fiona and Steve for the weekend and Mandy said that they had nothing to lose. At the very worst, if they were caught, they could say that they had been going on a weekend out clubbing while Lip was away.

Lip wasn't acting weird and nobody greeted him when he got off the train, which was something that Ian counted in his favour. He caught a cab outside the station and they caught one and just gave instructions to follow. Mandy didn't say anything as they sat in the cab, just kept her eyes fixed on Lip's cab in a sort of demented way. It was scary.

They drove into a sort of dodgy looking part of New York and pulled up outside of a club called The Hanger. They could hear the music pounding from inside, loud and aggressive and honestly the place didn't look like much, but it definitely looked popular. Lip spoke to the guy on the door and he just waved him through with a nod of his head, no money changing hands.

Ian and Mandy had to pay twenty each to get in though and the bouncer obviously thought they didn't look like the usual crowd judging by the look he gave them. Inside there were barely dressed girls dancing on podiums and others wearing just as little walking around serving drinks. There were tables and booths arranged all around the room and people were either sitting or standing, dancing in between the tables like that was the designated dance floor. The bar at the back was strangely empty, because it seemed like everyone was taking their drinks and moving away, like something better was about to happen. And judging by the fact there was a cage in the very centre of the room, Ian guessed that there was definitely going to be some sort of entertainment.

Lip was at the bar, talking to the tall, dark-haired bartender who was easily one of the most beautiful women Ian had ever seen. And he could say that, he was gay, it was an objective eye. It didn't look like they were flirting though, just talking and that was why Ian caught Mandy's arm and shook his head, keeping her from charging over.

The stood near the edge of the room, with quite a good view of the bar and the cage, since the latter was on a raised platform to the rest of the room.

They were there for about five minutes before large, cushioning mats were placed on the floor of the cage two girls walked into it dressed in nothing but tiny shorts and sports bras. They put headgear on and gum guards in and the music quietened down a little as a bell rang. It was basically kick boxing, but not quite as technical and one of the girls obviously fought a little dirty. She had dyed red hair that Ian thought was the colour of blood and there was a tattoo across her shoulder blades that from the distance he was at, Ian couldn't work out what it was exactly.

To put it quite simply, she was scary as hell.

Ian was gay and he put that down to the reason why the fight didn't really do a lot for him. He could tell all the men in the room thought it was hot, well all the  _other_  men that was. They were cheering and cat-calling. Ian just watched and thought the outcome was inevitable.

The red haired girl won, pinning the other girl to the mat with her knees and grinned at the crowd her arms raised above her head. Even Mandy clapped, because he could tell she was impressed by how the girl fought. She would fit right in in their neighbourhood.

Two more went up against the red haired girl and she won both times before the mats were dragged out of the cage and men took the women's place. This Ian knew he was going to find pretty it fucking hot. And he did. Even though they fought with headgear and boxing gloves on, it was still hot. They could fight, but they fought fair and neat and Ian thought they'd have been kicked to a pulp in his neighbourhood.

They'd probably be kicked to a pulp by that girl.

And then two people stepped into the ring wearing nothing but a pair of shorts and one of them had bandages wrapped around their knuckles. It began with, "I think Lip's cheating on me." And it ended with, "Holy shit that's Mickey!" Everything just sort of snowballed from there.


	7. Chapter 7

Mickey didn't quite know how he'd ended up in New York, it had just happened. And after that everything had just snowballed.

He'd started off working as a bouncer at the club The Hanger that wasn't really a club at all, but hey, he didn't know what else to call it. And somehow he'd wound up being offered a chance to fight and he'd impressed the owner almost straight off, so he'd been promoted to a regular fighter. It was weird though because he fit in there better than he had ever really fit in anywhere in his life.

The people who fought in the cage were all aggressive and rude and jagged around the edges. Tony was the one he bonded with immediately and Mickey didn't ever bond with anybody. It was Tony with the dyed blood red hair and the wicked smile and brutal punch who'd actually matched him in a shots competition. She had his respect in the cage and out of it. She was Mickey's sort of girl and he didn't even like people, let alone girls.

The men who worked at The Hanger to fight were mostly pussies and they pissed Mickey the fuck off because they were all about padding and whimpering when they got stitches from one accidental punch. They flinched and fell down at punches Mickey just laughed at and spat a little blood out because of. It was the girls that were vicious. And not even just the ones who fought in the cage.

Tessa had called him out immediately on being gay and had told him to not even bother trying to fucking deny it, none of them were going to say jack shit. Tessa was beautiful to put it simply, she made Mickey feel short and had natural jet black hair that he knew all the others girls envied. But she had a mouth on her that would rival a sailor and she was as devious as they came. She was the sort of girl who'd smile at your face and stab you in the back when you were least expecting it. Mickey didn't know why he liked that about her. He didn't even know why he liked her. As far as he was concerned, he should hate her guts. Especially since she kept cracking gay jokes when nobody else was around and that her theory for why he tolerated their shit was because he was their gay best friend.

Katy was about Mickey's height although he always told her she was shorter just to make himself feel better. She was one of the dancers and she was always being told not to twat the guy who felt her up, but to leave it to the bouncers. She thought that was fucking pointless, because she could hit just as hard. Katy was a bleach blonde that even though it wasn't natural, sort of hinted at how many brain cells she had in her head. What the girl lacked in common sense though, she made up for in bra size and baby blue eyes.

Tessa and Katy had already lived together because they were both as mean as hell and that made them get on, but it was Tony's idea for her and Mickey to move in. And so they had, because honestly it was cheaper for Mickey to do that and he didn't have to walk to work because Katy had a car. He'd sold the one Lip had given him before he'd landed the job at The Hanger.

It also was pretty fun having them around. They were like him. They drank more than they ate, they swore more than they talked and their compliments were delivered as backhanded insults. And he tolerated the fact that all their girly shit clogged up the bathroom and the living space because they understood the unspoken rule of not to eat his fucking Jell-O.They were also smart enough to notice the scars on Mickey's wrists and not even bother trying to ask about them.

And in return for the stuff they didn't do to annoy him and overall just being some of the only non-blood related people he tolerated, Mickey looked after them. He sort of felt like he'd lost Mandy as a little sister but gained three new ones, because they were tough girls and they could fight their own battles, but the first thing Mickey always asked when he found one of them crying was, "Who do I have to kill?"

Lip was the only person from his old life that he kept in touch with. It was because of Lip that he knew Mandy was fine, that he had a nephew called Michael and that the kid was a freaking genius. Lip came to visit him once a year, met the girls and gave him pictures. It was because of Lip that he felt in the loop a little, even when it came to Ian's life even though he didn't ask to be told stuff about that.

Lip liked the text him photos of Michael at his birthday party and Mandy asleep with drool dribbling down her chin. He sent him a picture of Ian passed out shirtless on the sofa with Mandy drawing on his chest. He knew that sometimes it was more for Lip's benefit than his, because he knew Lip felt like this was thanking Mickey somehow for what he'd done. Mickey didn't complain even though he pretended like it pissed him off. It didn't really. It didn't bother him at all that he had pictures of his nephew and his sister stuck on his wall, or even that he had one of Ian up there as well.

Admittedly, it did make it difficult to forget about Gallagher when he had his picture staring at him all the time, but still. Mickey couldn't help it. He'd tried throwing it away once and had made the girls help him go through the trash trying to find it. That's how they'd found out about Ian.

Tony had actually punched him in the face for what he'd said to Ian about him being nothing but a warm mouth. He was sort of glad that someone finally had. Of course, he didn't tell them about the murder part. No, Mickey wasn't that stupid. He was more careful than that.

The girls all loved Lip, thought he was a genius and made him do their taxes when he dropped by once a year. He always stayed for a weekend and they made it a sort of event, getting so pissed none of them could stand up the next morning or really remember what they'd done. But it was fun, it was definitely fun.

Mickey would even go so far as to say he and Lip were friends, it made more sense than having the girls as friends anyway. So he begrudgingly admitted it. When he started fighting in the cage as the bare knuckles fighter, Lip came by almost randomly and watched. He still came for his usual visits once a year, but he stopped by a couple of other times just to watch Mickey fight and take a shot and Mickey thought it was because Lip longed to be doing it as well. He remembered the fights that Lip had used to stage, knew Lip missed that sort of feeling that he couldn't have now with a kid.

But he also knew that Lip wouldn't give Michael up for the world.

Lip had asked him to come back for his and Mandy's wedding, but he'd refused. He'd wished he could, but he'd stayed away this long it wouldn't make sense to go back. So he just got very drunk that weekend on whisky and for his birthday the following week the girls got a picture of Mandy and Lip all dressed up standing at the alter framed.

Mickey hadn't thanked them, he'd told them that it was gay. But they'd heard a thank you anyway.

The day that Mickey's life decided it was going to take a turn in a new direction was on one of Lip's yearly weekend visits. He said he'd meet Lip at the club because he had to go bash in the skull of an ex who was stalking Katy.

Mickey was a popular sight at the club now because he was the only one who fought bare-knuckled. The favourite event was when willing volunteers signed up to fight him rather than just ones who the boss had picked. Because Mickey was popular, the boss hadn't even blinked an eye at him saying he was going to be a little late, had just thrown in another fight to fill up the time. Nobody had even thought twice about the fact that Mickey walked in with blood already on his knuckles.

"It's sorted," he said to Katy as he passed her podium and she bent down and kissed him on the cheek, making him grimace and pull away because he hated it when they did that sort of shit. She laughed at him and he gave a death glare to some guy who was staring a little too obviously at her tits.

The guy was obviously a regular judging by the way he flinched.

Mickey spotted Lip across the room at the bar talking to Tessa and he gave him a one-fingered salute as he stepped into the cage, arriving just in time for his fight. He didn't know the tool he was fighting, but then it was volunteer night, so he hadn't expected to.

The bell rang and Mickey didn't even hesitate to punch the fucker in the face. He loved this job, loved the thrill of the fight and the feel of skin splitting under his knuckles as he hit. The guy was a pussy as he had bandages tied around his knuckles and Mickey hit him a little harder for that. To his credit, he did try to fight back, but he just wasn't that good.

Mickey had him pinned under his foot in under four minutes. Not quite a record, but close. The crowd screamed sort of drunkenly and he ducked out of the cage for a minute whilst they picked the next volunteer, because quite a few pussied out after watching a fight.

He sat on the edge of the raised platform with Tony, passing a cigarette between them even though they weren't supposed to smoke inside. "Never change, do you?" Lip asked, standing in front of them, "Either of you."

He handed Mickey a shot of vodka and another to Tony, who laughed and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "You wouldn't want us to," she laughed and then clinked glasses with Mickey before they both knocked down the shot. Neither of them so much as blinked as the acrid tasting liquid burned a path down their throats.

"You could volunteer," Mickey said, smirking as he settled back against the platform.

"And fight against you?" Lip asked, his eyebrows raised, "Fuck off."

Mickey just smirked. "Looks like I'm up," he muttered when across the room Tessa jerked her head at him, "You're buying the first round later." Like it would even go any other way, but he still said it anyway.

Lip nodded and didn't bother wishing Mickey good luck. Although maybe he might have wanted to when they saw who Mickey was up against. None other than Ian Gallagher stood on the other side of the cage, his eyes hard and his jaw set and for the first time, when he heard the grating sound of the bolt being thrown and them being sealed inside the cage, Mickey wished he could get straight back out again.

He didn't want to fight Gallagher.

He thought maybe he was imagining it. Or at least he hoped he was.

"The fuck are you doing here?" he asked, his eyes narrowing at the redhead, not liking the fact that the fucker actually had the nerve to look good. He'd taken his shirt off and was dressed in fucking skinny jeans, which made Mickey think that he hadn't intended to fight in any way.

"Could ask you the same question," Ian replied and his voice did shit to Mickey that he didn't want to think about.

He bared his teeth and neither of them moved even when the bell rang. "Fuck off, Gallagher, I live here," he snarled at the younger guy, "Nobody said I had to stay in shitty Chicago for all of my life!"

"Yeah, but you could have had the courtesy to at least fucking call your sister so she knew you weren't dead in a gutter somewhere," Ian snapped back and he was pissed, Mickey could tell. He thought it was sort of hot. "But don't worry, she knows you're not dead now."

He jerked his thumb sideways and Mickey just had time to look once at Mandy's face before Gallagher punched him in the head.

He knew that Gallagher hadn't gone into the army or marines or whatever in the end, but he'd still retained all that ninja shit that they seemed to have taught him. Mickey was punched and slammed into the side of the cage before it even really registered he was supposed to be fighting back, because he'd been a little preoccupied with the fact Ian was there and Ian was shirtless and the muscles the guy had were kind of ridiculous. Then Mickey snapped out of it and head-butted him in the face.

Annoyingly, it wasn't the usual sort of fight that happened in the cage with Mickey, but it was definitely vicious. They were sort of evenly matched, which pissed Mickey off because he didn't understand it. There was a lot of slamming each other around into the sides of the cage and a lot of rolling and pinning and punching.

Fingers dug hard into skin, but the problem was that neither of them really registered that as pain because for them, that was just associated with fucking. Mickey hardly even felt it and he didn't think Ian did either. It sort of reminded him of the first time him and Ian had fucked, when the hits had turned to gropes, but that wasn't about to happen when Ian was obviously pissed at him for taking off and he was pissed at Gallagher for being there/existing. He was just fucking with Mickey's brain and it pissed him off.

Ian managed to pin him down, but he leant too close and Mickey sank his teeth into the side of Ian's neck hard enough to draw blood. He took advantage of Gallagher's surprise and flipped them again, sitting on Gallagher's chest with his knees either side of his head, panting heavily. Ian just stared up at him.

"Did you seriously just fucking bite me?" he asked and Mickey knew he would have touched his neck if he could have reached.

"Don't even act like that's something new," he snarled down at the redhead, standing up when he heard the grate of metal against metal and the cage door swinging open. He didn't look at Ian again as he walked out of the cage, but he slammed Lip against the platform, snarling in his face, "Did you know?" Because he'd trusted Lip to keep the secret of his whereabouts and if he'd blabbed that, what else could he blab?

Lip shook his head as best he could with Mickey pinning him. "No."

And Mickey believed him. He nodded curtly and let the guy go, tugging his shirt back down and into place before taking a step back. "Look me up for that pint if you're not a dead man," he said and felt Tony's hand against his back, her arm winding around his waist as they walked away. He didn't even have the heart to push her away either, so he slung an arm around her shoulders as they walked because he knew this was her form of a comforting hug.

They knew all about Ian Gallagher and even though they'd never say anything to his face, it was obvious they knew he'd be confused and hurting a little bit by the way Tessa wordlessly handed him five shots and didn't so much as blink when he downed them all in one go.

Five minutes later he was sat, a little drunk, in the back room whilst Katy dabbed at his face with a cloth to try and work out if he needed stitches in his lip. "Bitch, get off, I'm fine," he muttered, but she just smacked him around the back of the head which was as effective as a shut up.


	8. Chapter 8

Ian had never seen Mandy as mad as she was that day. She shouted and screamed at Lip until hot, burning tears fell from her eyes and Ian couldn't look at her because he didn't know if the betrayal he saw in her eyes mirrored the look in his own, but he thought maybe it must. It was Mickey's betrayal for leaving, Lip's betrayal for knowing and not saying anything.

" _Nobody said I had to say in shitty Chicago for all of my life!"_

No, they hadn't, but Ian had expected him to. He'd expected him to because he hoped he would. He'd always thought he'd hated Mickey, that he'd started loathing him for what he'd said, but then it never changed the fact that he'd always associated him as being something he could come back to Chicago for. Not that he'd ever left in the end, but still, that had been the plan.

He left them to their arguing, in the hotel room they'd found in silence. Only once the door shut had the yelling began, Mandy hadn't said a single thing on the way there. It was like she'd been saving it all up. But Ian couldn't sit there and listen to Mandy's screaming, Lip's attempts at placating her. He didn't explain, not really. He just said that it hadn't been optional, that it had been necessary. But even Ian wasn't accepting that explanation.

He had to get out, he had to be able to think his own thoughts and not ones Mandy put in his head with her screaming. But wandering around the slightly dodgier parts of New York just seemed to make his brain shut down. He didn't know what he wanted to think of, all he could think were some half formed questions about what would make Mickey move here, what would make him stay.

And that image of his arm thrown over the shoulders of the girl with blood red hair stuck in his brain, was burned into the back of his eyelids because that was the most intimate thing he had ever seen Mickey do in public. He wondered if he was pretending to be straight, if that girl knew he was gay, or if Mickey had finally just found a friend.

"Hey, Ian Gallagher, right?"

A girl with bleach blonde hair touched his arm and he knew he was looking at her oddly, but he couldn't help it. He didn't recognise her from anywhere and she was the sort of person that you recognised. She was dressed in dark skinny jeans that clung to her like a second skin and high heels that made her legs seem a lot longer than they actually were. She was slender, but her white top pushed up her breasts until it was practically impossible not to notice them. They were too big not to notice them, but he looked away quickly, focussed on her amazingly blue eyes. He was gay, he didn't need to focus on tits when holding a conversation with a girl.

He frowned, "Yeah, how the hell do you know that?"

She laughed and held out a hand, "I'm Katy, one of Mickey's best friends." She didn't look fazed in the slightest when he just stared at her. She just carried on smiling and tucked her hand into her back pocket. She wasn't wearing much make-up he noticed and he thought that made her even prettier than other girls, because she didn't need it. She only had on a bit of mascara and some pale lip-gloss than in the crappy glow from the streetlights made her mouth shine.

He could imagine that straight guys found her seductive without her even trying to be. She seemed like that sort of person.

"I remember when Mickey didn't have any friends."

She laughed again and he realised then that the sound was weirdly intoxicating. "Yeah well, we kind of got under his skin," she said, her tone still full of laughter, a smile on her face, "Where you headed this time of night anyway, Ian Gallagher?" She said his full name like it was some sort of title. That confused him.

What also confused him was that she seemed like a ridiculously happy person. He'd even say _bubbly_ and that wasn't the sort of person he expected Mickey to be friends with, if he did ever in fact have friends. He wasn't sure that he believed her, but then she did know his name.

"Mandy and Lip were arguing, I had to get out of there," he said, assuming she knew who they were, "What about you?" He thought it seemed a bit strange for a girl as pretty as her to be wandered around in the dead of night on her own. In Chicago that was the fastest way to get done in.

"Hope she doesn't give Lip too hard a time, he meant well," she said, twirling a piece of hair around her finger in a way that should have been flirty, but for some reason wasn't, "And painkiller run, we're in need of them, haven't seen Mickey drink like he was earlier since he had to miss Mandy's wedding." She pulled a face that was one of pity and Ian didn't understand it, didn't understand her saying Mickey had _had_ to do anything.

"He was always a drinker," he said randomly, lamely, because he had to say something. It almost felt like this girl knew more about Mickey than he did and he didn't like that thought, because he knew the most about Mickey. Or at least he had done. But this girl was looking like she thought she understood Mickey completely, or at least as much as she would ever need to.

He was jealous of that, he couldn't help it.

She laughed again. "Yeah, sounds about right," she stopped playing with her hair, "Hey look, you wanna come back to ours, you can crash on our couch or something, you know just in case they're still arguing or having make up sex or something."

Ian pulled a face at that thought. He should have said no, but for some reason he didn't. He blamed the fact that she'd said ' _our_ place' and the curiosity for what sort of person Mickey would live with got the better of him. He pushed thoughts of his boyfriend out of his mind as she linked her arm through his and started leading him in the direction of her flat with the click of her heels against the pavement echoing around them.

It was obvious from the first moment he stepped into the apartment – slightly out of breath from walking up six flights of stairs because the elevator was broken – that there were girls living in the same apartment as Mickey. He was guessing more than one. Shoes littered the entranceway and even though the air stank of cigarettes, booze and weed, Ian could detect the smell of perfume underneath it all. The walls of the entranceway were painted a pale blue and the wood under his feet was only slightly scuffed looking.

The girl, Katy kicked off her shoes and smiled at him as she walked through the archway to their left. He numbly copied her and was struck by how homely the open plan living area seemed. It wasn't clean, not really. There were clothes, mostly female, but some male tossed over chairs and clean ones folded in piles at the edge of the room. Beer cans and bottles were piled next to a stack of books and there were dirty dishes piled up near the sink, but only a couple of days worth if Ian had to guess.

There were two doors on one wall and three on the other and only one was open, revealed a bathroom that he could tell was cluttered up with makeup from where he stood. And fast asleep on the couch, his mouth open and small snores rattling out of his chest was none other than Mickey Milkovich.

Katy smiled and rolled her eyes at the sight of him. "Okay, change of plan," she said, only lowering her voice slightly because apparently she knew as well as he did that Mickey was a heavy sleeper, "You can't stay on the couch, but you can crash in my room and I'll stay in Mickey's, no doubt he'll fall off the couch in the middle of the night or something."

"Won't he mind you staying in his room?" Ian asked, jerking his thumb over his shoulder and trying to not focus too much on the state of Mickey's face. Trying not to focus on Mickey's face at all. "I can go."

He didn't feel sorry for hitting Mickey, especially not when his own face throbbed just as much, but still, his gut twisted.

Katy patted his arm in a way that was probably supposed to be reassuring and threw her keys onto the kitchen counter. "You're not going anywhere," she said, "And he'll only pretend like he gives a shit for about ten seconds, then he'll get over it." She shrugged, "It's really no big deal."

She moved away from him then, getting a bottle of water out of the fridge and putting it on the floor next to Mickey along with a box of painkillers. She grimaced a little at the sight of his face, but was smiling by the time she looked back at Ian. "You did well against him," she said, sounding proud and a little astounded, "Never seen anyone last that long against him."

"It must be something about people from our neighbourhood," he muttered, staring at Mickey for a second before tearing his eyes away.

He thought Katy looked almost _knowing_ when she smiled at him, but all she said was, "I'll just get you something you can sleep in." She ducked into what he assumed must be Mickey's room, but he didn't move from his spot near to the archway and so he couldn't see in. He wasn't sure he wanted to, but he did wonder if Mickey's room looked anything like his old one. He thought probably not.

"Here you go," she said, coming out five minutes later wearing what he assumed had to be one of Mickey's shirts and her underwear. She looked like it was completely natural for her to be doing so and he wondered if they really were that close. It made him feel jealous again, but he knew that no matter how pretty she was – and she really was gorgeous – Mickey was about as gay as you could get and he could pretend, but he wasn't attracted to her.

She handed him a pair of cotton pyjama bottoms. "They're Mickey's, so they'll probably be a little short," she said, looking a little sheepish, "But unless you want one of Tessa's silk nightdresses, it's the best I can do."

He smiled at her about as genuinely as he could manage. "It's fine, thank you," he said, unable to help himself from running his fingers over the fabric. It smelt like Mickey, he could practically feel that scent seeping into his pores. Mickey always smelt like cheap shampoo, cigarettes, sweat and something that was just so distinctly Mickey. The trousers just smelt like that last one, it wasn't a bad thing, not at all.

"That's my room there," Katy said, pointing to the door next to the bathroom, "Make yourself at home."

And because he didn't know what else to say to her, he just nodded and made his way in that direction. He shut the door behind him, giving Katy a last smile that he hoped didn't look nervous; but he couldn't help it, he was more nervous than he could ever remember being. And yet he was more relaxed than he had been in a while. As he put on the trousers that smelt like Mickey and lay down in an unfamiliar room that stank of hairspray and perfume, his face throbbing and a twist in his gut, he knew he shouldn't feel relaxed. But he did. Maybe it was knowing finally that even if he was pissed at Mickey, the ex-con was still in the other room, safe and asleep.

Knowing that was a weirdly comforting thing.


	9. Chapter 9

Mickey's face hurt because of Ian's fists and his head hurt because of the booze he'd drunk to try and block out the image of Ian's face. It wasn't a great combination, but the painkillers he knew Katy had gone out to get especially helped, once they'd finally kicked in that was.

He'd woken up on the couch at about three in the morning and swallowed down the pills before staggering into his room. He hadn't even thought twice about the fact Katy was in his bed at the time and didn't think it was that strange when he woke up for a second time. But if he coupled it with her weird behaviour, it made him wonder what she was hiding.

Except he was too groggy to give a shit at that moment, so he let her act guilty.

The girls had a habit of falling into the wrong beds on a regular basis, after having drunk too much to be able to tell what door was what. It didn't bother Mickey. It didn't even bother him that they'd developed the other habit of sleeping in his shirts. Tessa just said it was because wearing his shit was easier than going out and buying new nightclothes and he'd only bitch if they walked around naked. Since they were the ones who actually washed his stuff anyway, he didn't really think it was worth it to complain.

He'd gotten used to the girly crap cluttering up the place. He'd never had that problem growing up with Mandy and it had freaked him out a little at first, but not so much anymore. He just ignored all the make-up in the bathroom and the masses of razors in the shower. His nostrils were even numb to the smell of hairspray or perfume now.

And he had actually learnt pretty quickly that when it was Katy's time of the month, he had to keep a close eye on her. She had anger management problems, which seemed weird considering that she was the most docile and probably the kindest out of all of them. Except when she snapped. One minute she'd be fine and then the next she'd just flip and it only got worse for those handful of days towards the end of the month. The number of bar fights that he'd had to drag her out of and the number of times he had had to finish something that Katy had started were insane. He actually found it sort of amusing at the same time as it terrified him when she snapped.

Mickey wasn't scared of much, but he was scared of a pissed off Katy, because nothing about what she became was logical. In fact, when Katy snapped, all remnants of logic just flew out the window.

He also learnt pretty quickly that if he accidentally knocked Tessa's contact lenses down the sink, she'd grab his nuts and squeeze until tears sprang into his eyes. He'd only done that once, he always made sure they were nowhere near where he could knock them whenever he went into the bathroom.

He was halfway through his second cup of coffee, with Tessa sitting opposite him, her feet up on the table and a book in her lap when Tony finally came out of the bathroom. Tessa was the smart one, which Mickey didn't think quite went with how pretty she was, but oh well. She wasn't on par with Lip's level of genius, not even close, but she liked to read. Her glasses kept sliding down the bridge of her nose and she casually leant over and got a spoon out of a nearby drawer, not stopping reading for a second even as she threw it at him for smirking.

"Mickey, I need your help," Tony said, walking out of the bathroom in her bra and thong, flashing far too much flesh for him to be comfortable with, but he was used to it by now. You didn't last long being a prude sharing a flat with these three girls, that was another lesson he'd learnt. She had a strip of paper stuck to her calf and she walked up and placed her foot in his lap. "Pull it off," she instructed, "I can't do it, pull it off."

He smirked and took hold of the end of the strip. "Ready?" he asked and when she opened her mouth to reply, ripped it off.

She screamed and almost kicked him in the face when she grabbed at her own leg. "Fuck that shitting killed!" she said, because Tony could apparently take a punch to the face and laugh about it, but waxing her legs turned her into a complete girl.

He wasn't the only one laughing at her as she hopped around.

"You do know you have to go through that again and do the rest of your leg, right?" Tessa pointed out, her book momentarily forgotten. She was smirking.

"Fuck that shit," Tony practically snarled, "I'm using my razor, I'm not doing that again!"

Mickey laughed, "You're such a pussy!"

She flipped him off as she stalked back into the bathroom. They could hear the shower running after a few minutes, testament to the fact that she'd pussied out of waxing the rest of her legs and really had resorted to the razor again. Mickey chuckled under his breath, his mood instantly lifted, improved even more so by the full breakfast that Katy placed in front of him.

The girls took turns cooking. Mickey had originally been included in that rota, but cooking wasn't one of his skills, so in the end they'd just decided that leaving him out of it was generally for the benefit of all. It was something that suited him just fine.

Katy was still dressed in one of his shirts and Tessa was wearing one of her horrible pink nightdress things that were made of very little material and felt weird when she brushed against him. "Why are you scowling at me now?" she asked, her book set down on the table and her glasses on top of it as she ate, "I'm not going to steal your bacon."

"Damn right you're not," he said, shoving a piece into his mouth just to emphasise that point, "And I was just thinking how retarded that material is." He motioned to her clothes and beside him Katy snorted.

"Why?" Tessa asked, smoothing her hand down the front of it, the material straining a little against her skin and showing off the fact that she had her nipple pierced. It was an effective way to win a fight with Tessa, all you had to do was pinch the bar and twist slightly. He remembered when she'd first gotten it done and had walked around with a hand pressed against her tit for ages to stop anyone from flicking it. "My ex used to love the feel of it."

Mickey pulled a face, "It feels fucking wrong."

"So you wouldn't fuck a guy wearing silk boxers then?" Tessa asked, her features twisted into a smirk.

He just shuddered, because that was pretty self explanatory. As far as he was concerned, straight guys were just fucking weird.

Tony walked out of the bathroom, a black towel wrapped around her, her red hair plastered against her shoulders. She grinned as she snagged a piece of bacon off of Mickey's plate and then took off running. "Bitch no!" Mickey launched himself out of his seat and over the back of the couch and tackled Tony, because he may not hit women, but he wasn't stupid enough to be under any sort of illusions about her being delicate.

He pinned her down, because even though Tony was a good fighter, he still weighed a lot more than her and he was still stronger, so pinned her down with his crotch in her face was almost too easy. He snatched the bacon back off of her and shoved it in her mouth, grinning down at her.

"Mickey, get your crotch the fuck out of my face!" she said, struggling underneath him, her eyes narrowing dangerously, "Nobody wants that shit this close to them, seriously!"

"You know you're not really in the position to be insulting me," Mickey pointed out, "Because I could just do this." He grinned and pursed his lips slightly, letting her see the spit that had accumulated in his mouth.

If he hadn't been a little preoccupied, he would have grinned, because the way that Tony's eyes went wide and she froze underneath him was fucking hilarious. "Okay, I take it back, I take it back!" she said and he knew if it was possible she would have been holding her hands up in surrender, "I'm sure your dick is something everyone wants close to them, I take it back, Mick, promise!"

He smirked and swallowed, "And are you gonna keep stealing my fucking bacon?"

They both knew she would, but hey. "Yeah, whatever," she said, squirming underneath him, "Just get the fuck off me, seriously!"

He lifted off and took a step back, grabbing her hand and hauling her up onto her feet.

"The fuck have you been eating?" she asked, prodding him in the stomach, "You weigh a fucking ton!"

He lifted up the front of his shirt and motioned to himself, "Bitch, this is muscle."

Tony laughed and smacked him in the stomach, which actually kind hurt, but he didn't show it. "Yeah, because all that  _muscle_ ," he really didn't like the fact she air-quoted that word, "Is really reeling them in for you, there are people just lining up to fuck you."

He pulled a face as he walked back to the table. "Bitch, fuck off," he retorted, "At least I ain't about to get fucking herpes, some of the twats you sleep with definitely have something!" And she did have a somewhat questionable taste in men.

Tony flipped him off.

"To be fair, it isn't your face, it's just your personality that people don't like," Katy put in helpfully and Tessa choked on her coffee, "I don't know, maybe if you smiled more or something you'd get some more action."

"Thanks for that input," Mickey muttered, taking a large mouthful of his now lukewarm coffee, "I'll bear that shit in mind next time."

It wasn't like he had no love life, it was just that not only was it a little difficult to hook up with people when you were determined to not show that you were gay, but sex also just brought his mind right back to the person he didn't want to think of. The number of times he'd forgotten who the hell he was fucking in favour of remembering Gallagher was. . . well every time actually. But he'd be damned if he was going to admit that.

"I'm kind of glad he doesn't get laid often actually," Tessa muttered, wiping her hands on her bare legs, which Mickey thought was fucking pointless, but didn't say anything, "We don't need another fucking stalker crying outside our front door at one in the morning cause Mickey's ignoring them."

"Why do you make that sound like it's happened more than once?" he asked, glaring at her because really he didn't need reminding of that incident. Apparently, Mickey's ass was just that great that it made some guy all obsessive and needy and when Mickey told him to fuck off, spent the entire night crying outside their front door like a little bitch. If nothing else, it had put Mickey off of fucking blondes for life.

Tessa just rolled her eyes and looked like she was about to comment when her eyes locked on something over Mickey's shoulder and her mouth hung open. "You didn't tell me he was staying the night," she said, sounding sort of offending.

Frowning, Mickey turned and then he felt like he was about to be sick. Because standing there in the doorway to Katy's room looking all rumpled and cute wearing  _his_  fucking pyjama bottoms. He was staring back at Mickey in that dopey, sleepy way he'd always done after Mickey had let him stay over or they'd fallen asleep after a round. It was stupid for no reason other than Mickey thought it was cute.

"The fuck is he doing here?" he asked, waving a hand in Ian's direction and twisting back round to glare at Katy, because of course this  _had_  to be asleep. It explained why she'd stayed in his room last night. It explained the guilty look on her face.

It was a good fucking job Mickey didn't hit girls that was all Mickey could really say.


	10. Chapter 10

Ian had been woken up by someone screaming and he'd almost walked out of the room then, but to be honest, he'd been a bit of a coward. He knew Mickey was awake, he could hear him. And he sounded relaxed, happy even as he talked to who Ian was guessing were three girls. It sounded so natural, so comfortable for Mickey, who had always sounded a little bit awkward when he was made to talk.

Ian was afraid to ruin that and he was also kind of enjoying the steady drone of Mickey's voice, even though he knew how wrong it was for him to be thinking that. He kept trying to focus on his boyfriend or the fact he was mad at Mickey, but in the end it all came back to him realising that the way Mickey barked out his laugh was exactly the same as it had always been and that Mickey still swore as much as usual, but in that affectionate way he'd been with Mandy. He liked listening to Mickey being like that. He liked listening to Mickey.

But he was scared because he didn't know if the jealousy would show on his face or not.

When he'd finally gathered the courage to open the door, the scene in front of him had been weirdly normal. Mickey was sitting at the table with Katy and a girl that Ian recognised as being the bartender. Mickey was in a t-shirt and slacks, Katy was still wearing Mickey's shirt and her underwear and the bartender girl was wearing what looked like a silk nightdress. They all looked normal and comfortable and the way that they were laughing and smiling made Ian jealous again. He'd never been like that with Mickey. He'd never got to sit down to breakfast with Mickey before and act normal, but these people he didn't even know were doing exactly that.

Ian knew it was stupid to be jealous, but he couldn't help it.

It was the bartender who spotted him first, over Mickey's shoulder and her eyes widened in a way that implied she knew exactly who he was. "You didn't tell me he was staying the night?" she asked, looking at Mickey who twisted around to obviously see what the fuck she was talking about.

From that, Ian gathered pretty quickly that Mickey hadn't been told he was there. That nobody had. Mickey's eyes widened slightly and so many emotions flickered across his face that Ian didn't have time to place any of them before the ex-con just shut down. His face went blank and then he scowled, evidently not pleased in the slightest that Ian was there.

"The fuck is he doing here?" he looked back at Katy and Ian was sort of impressed that Mickey knew who was to blame that quickly.

Nobody answered him for a second and Katy chewed her bottom lip, looking actually kind of adorable.

Mickey pushed away from the table roughly and then it was a sudden flurry of activity as both girls dived away from the table. The bartender moved to catch Mickey's toppling coffee mug and Katy was suddenly positioning herself between Mickey and the archway, her arms and legs spread wide to try and block his exit.

"Katy, move the fuck out of the way," he said, his voice low and dangerous, the tone that most people avoided appearing in Mickey's voice at all costs. It usually meant that shit was going to hit the fan and someone was probably going to end up hospitalised.

But the blonde girl just scowled at him and looked determined, not even moving an inch. "No," she said stubbornly, shaking her head.

"Katy, I swear to fucking God, if you don't move. . ." Mickey trailed off, the threat hanging there in the air incomplete, but Ian thought he sounded pretty damn serious. Mickey wasn't the sort who needed to complete threats, he just had to let people's imagination do the work.

But Katy didn't even blink. "You won't do shit," she said, the confidence in her voice astounding, "You can't keep running away from everything every time you don't like the way shit is heading."

Even though Mickey's back was to him, Ian knew he was scowling. "What the fuck else do you want me to do?" he asked, his anger apparently spiking even though there was an incredulous edge to his voice, "It's either walk away or punch the fucker in the head, which would you rather I do?"

"How about use your fucking words like your momma taught you!" she shouted at him, still scowling and Ian could see something starting to harden in her eyes.

"My mum didn't teach me jack shit," Mickey snarled at her, "The bitch hated me; and I ain't sticking around to have some bullshit conversation with Gallagher, so just get the hell out of the way."

He started to move past Katy, his hand around her forearm to push it down out of the way so that he could get past. And Ian blamed the fact that he was preoccupied with the way that his name sounded coming from Mickey's mouth, even if it was his last name. It still sent a weird thrill through Ian's body. He blamed that fact for why everything seemed to happen in high speed. One minute Mickey was pushing past Katy to get to the door and then his head suddenly got slammed into the nearby wall.

"Shit!" It was the bartender who shouted, "Tony, get out here!"

She moved towards Katy and where Mickey was crumpled on the floor on his side, moving cautiously like Katy was some sort of dangerous animal. And with the look in the blonde's eyes, Ian thought maybe that was what she was. He felt like he was still digesting what the hell had just happened, because normally he would have been panicking over the fact that Mickey was now unconscious, but he just stared.

He wondered maybe if he'd just imagined that and he was in fact still asleep in the other room.

"What the hell did you do?" the girl with the blood red hair walked out of one of the other rooms in a bra and a pair of shorts, her hair wet and clinging to her skin. Her eyes went wide when she saw Mickey there on the floor and that was all it took for Ian's instincts to kick in.

It was just like when Kash had shot Mickey. Making the decision of whether or not he wanted to risk getting shot as well by going to Mickey's side was just like the choice he had now. But just like then, he knew that if something bad was going to happen, he'd rather it happened whilst he was crouching beside Mickey.

He crossed the room faster than he thought it was possible for him to move and the bartender reached out to try and stop him, but he shrugged her off, dropping to his knees beside Mickey and rolling him over onto his back. He was breathing, that was a relief at least and Ian knew he had a hard head so he didn't think there would be any sort of damage done by his head connecting to the wall. It didn't even look like he was bleeding, was more just the impact that had knocked him out more than anything else.

It felt like Mickey's skin was burning underneath the palm of his hand when he placed it on his chest and he couldn't stop himself from noticing how long Mickey's eyelashes were. He'd never noticed that before, had never really had the opportunity.

"Help me get him to his room," the bartender girl was crouched down near Mickey's feet and out of the corner of his eye, Ian could see the other girl backing Katy into a corner, her voice low as she spoke to her, but Ian couldn't tell what was being said. Katy's expression was slowly turning from hardened to frantic as she looked over at Mickey and then to the girl and then at Mickey again.

Wordlessly, Ian slipped his hands under Mickey's armpits and the bartender grabbed a hold of his feet. Mickey was heavier than Ian remembered, but then he'd packed on quite a bit more muscle and it wasn't exactly an easy job getting him into his room, but they managed it. After laying him on the bed, Ian straightened up and cracked his back, looking around.

The room wasn't neat, there were clothes littered all over the floor and random items dotted around haphazardly, but then it was Mickey and he would have been concerned if it had been neat. And yet, Ian's eyes were drawn to what was on the wall. Whereas Mickey's old room had been plastered with posters, the wall opposite Mickey's bed was covered with pictures. There were pictures of Michael and of Mandy and Lip, of them at birthday parties and drinking, others just completely random. There was even one of him that he tried not to think of as meaning something. The only one that was framed was of Lip and Mandy on their wedding day.

"He does give a shit," the bartender said, watching him, as though she was following his train of thought, "Even though he'll pretend until the day he dies that he doesn't."

Ian didn't say anything. He didn't know what to say.

"I'm Tessa by the way," she said, not bothering to extend a hand, just watching him.

"Ian," he replied, looking back to the photos.

She snorted. "Yeah, I know," she said, "Look, how about I do you a deal, you go round up Lip and Mickey's sister and I'll persuade sleeping beauty here to come out tonight." Ian frowned, not quite knowing what she was saying. "He needs to make up with his sister," Tessa said, "And if he wakes up and you're still here, no offense, but he'll bolt, so just meet us at the Blue Moon tonight, Lip knows where it is, we'll get Mickey there."

Ian didn't know what made him nod, what made him agree, because he didn't want to leave Mickey. He knew it was stupid, but he didn't. Yet he agreed with this girl he didn't know anyway. Maybe it was because he really didn't think there was any other option.


	11. Chapter 11

Mickey doesn't bother arguing with them when they say that they are all going out for a drink. Tessa had that look in her eyes that said he'd end up fucking hurt if he argued and since his head already hurt enough as it was, he just went with it. Mickey wasn't fucking stupid and he definitely wasn't suicidal, despite popular opinion in his old neighbourhood. But then, it was a long time since he'd been in Chicago.

He always found that it was pretty amazing how little people noticed you when you were standing next to three hot girls. Nobody even blinked an eye at his battered and damaged face, not when they had Katy's tits that they could be staring at instead. The club is pretty much packed by the time they get there, but it's not that far away from The Hanger, so people know who Mickey is. All he has to do is crack his knuckles and glare and people are scrambling off one of the couches against a back wall.

"Mick, I'm really really sorry," Katy said for probably the hundredth time since Mickey had woken up, her blue eyes wide and sort of watery in that way that meant she was about ten seconds away from crying.

"You cry and I'll twist your tit off," he says harshly, "And stop fucking apologising, I don't give a shit, it's not like I'm suddenly brain damaged or anything."

Tony snorts, "At least no more so than before.

When she leans forwards to take a beer off of Tessa, Mickey grabs a hold of her bra strap and snaps it against her skin sharply. Tony yelped and swatted at him, but she laughed at the same time; because that was how they always were. They didn't have a serious bone in their bodies sometimes.

"You do know you're going to have to face at least your sister," Tessa says helpfully, sitting down next to Tony and curling her legs up underneath her. Even being gay, Mickey can tell that she's easily the most beautiful girl in the room; but he wishes there was more fabric to her black dress because he just knows he's going to end up having to punch someone by the end of the night.

Mickey just snorted, "I kind of like having my head on my shoulders actually." He knew how pissed Mandy was going to be, he'd seen it all on her face in that split second before Ian had punched him in the side of the head. She'd looked like she wanted to remove his nuts with a spoon and put them were his eyeballs were supposed to be and he could deal with that, he could deal with Mandy's anger. But what he didn't know how to cope with was the pain that he knew that anger hid. He knew she felt like he'd abandoned her and maybe he had, but it wasn't like he had a choice.

"Come on, don't be a coward!" Tony said, choking out a laugh and guzzling on her beer like someone was about to take it off her. But then she was always like that when she drank. He knew she'd be getting up to get another round in in a minute, then she'd slow down. He chugged back half of his own beer just so he could make her get him another one when she did get up.

"Avoiding my sister when she's pissed off is not being a coward," he said seriously and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, "It's being smart."

Katy smirked. "Coward," she muttered. And maybe Mickey was being a coward, but it wasn't because of the anger. It would never be because of the anger. The worst part was, he thought the girls knew that. Suspected they could probably see the truth burning in his eyes, they normally could.

"So how was it seeing Ian again?" Tony asked and Mickey gritted his teeth because he really wanted the conversation to turn away from him, but he knew it wasn't going to for a while. They all thought he needed to  _talk this out_  or some shit. Maybe he did, but that didn't mean he had to be happy about it.

"I think the fucker grew again," he muttered, because he can't think of anything else to say that won't come out like an insult and he has enough bruises already, so he really doesn't need one of them smacking him around the back of the head. Which he knew they'd do if he slipped up and was a dick about Ian.

Tessa choked on her beer a little, Tony just smirked and Katy said, "He's actually pretty fucking hot," because she was weird like that and liked to make random comments that nobody was sure they wanted to actually hear.

"Yeah, Kate, you do know he's gay, right?" Tony said, her eyebrows raised, "And that he's Mickey's!"

Mickey just kept his mouth shut on that one, because he really didn't want to say anything about Ian being his. He knew he'd only get smacked because he'd deny it. And it wasn't like he'd be wrong for denying it. Gallagher wasn't his, maybe had been once, just a little bit, but he definitely wasn't now. He'd heard from Lip that the redhead had some stupid faggy boyfriend, he wasn't Mickey's anymore. If he ever had been.

"He could swing both ways," Katy said.

Tessa rolled her eyes. "Trust me, they guy's gay," she said, smirking slightly, "He didn't even look at your tits once and no offense, hun, but no straight guy looks at only your face when they're talking to you." She finished off her beer and put the bottle on a nearby table. "How the hell do you think I worked out about Mickey?"

He frowned, he hadn't known that it was that simple. "So I'm not completely obvious then," he said, because he'd been kind of paranoid about that, "I just don't stare at Katy's tits?"

"Exactly," Tessa said, laughter in her voice, "Now, I have an important question I have to ask you."

He groaned under his breath because he hated when she got that look on her face. It usually meant that he was going to have to put up with listening to a load of gay jokes. "What?" he asked sharply, giving her a death glare that she just smirked at.

She leant in closer, propping her chin up with the palm of her hand, her elbow resting on Tony's thigh. "Out of you and Ian," she said slowly, her eyes locked on his, her expression completely serious, "Who was the bottom?"

Tony choked, "Tess, you can't ask him that!"

Tessa shrugged, leaning back. "Oh, don't tell me you're not curious," she said, "We've never asked him before and Ian seems like a top, but I can't imagine Mickey being a bottom, so I was just wondering."

If someone had come in then and shot Mickey in the face, they would have been doing him a favour. "I'm not fucking answering that," he told her, scowling.

But Tessa just grinned like it was an answer already.

"I'm going to go get some drinks," Tony muttered, no doubt eager to get out of there before Mickey tried to murder Tessa or something. The Hanger's bartender edged closer to him and rested her cheek on his shoulder, draping one of her long legs over both of his. Her fingers played in the back of his hair, making him shiver because it was uncomfortable and familiar all at the same time.

"Knew it," she muttered in his ear and before she could jerk away, he grabbed her nipple ring through the thin material of her dress.

She squealed and latched on to his nipple in return and they both just sat there twisting until tears sprang into their eyes. "Get the fuck off me, bitch!" he snarled out through gritted teeth, putting a hand on her stomach and trying to push her off the couch.

"You let go first!"

They both gasped and let go when Katy banged their heads together. She looked away innocently, but the smirk on her face told it all. "What the fuck?" Mickey demanded, but he wasn't really pissed off, "Haven't you hurt my fucking head enough!"

Katy rolled her eyes. "Aww, don't be a baby," she said, her voice low and seductive, or at least it would have been seductive if Mickey had been interested in stuff like tits and vaginas. He wasn't though, so it just made him glare. "You want me to kiss it better?" she asked, pouting.

He cringed, "Fuck off." They knew he hated it when they got all lovey dovey and free with the kisses. It creeped him out, because nobody in his old neighbourhood had ever wanted to get that close to him. Well, maybe nobody other than Ian, but Mickey had stopped that shit from going any further than he was comfortable with. Dick up his ass, yes. Kissing, no.

Tony came back with a tray that she'd no doubt managed to get by batting her eyelashes at the bartender, four beers and a handful of shots on top of it. She slid the tray onto the table near to them and then surprised him by straddling his thighs, sitting down on him and smiling into his face like this wasn't strange or anything.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he asked her when she didn't seem like she was going to provide an explanation straight away.

She looped her arms around his neck, her fingers pushing into the back of his hair. "Don't look, but the bitch over there with the fake tits is someone I grew up with," she explained, her voice low and her lips right next to his ear, pressing her breasts against his chest in a way he really wasn't comfortable with. "The guy standing next to her was the guy that dumped me for her, I am  _not_ looking like the sad singleton in front of them."

He rolled his eyes, "So why can't you all of a sudden be a lesbian?"

She smiled and bent closer so that their faces were only an inch or so apart. The smile on her face was one that he'd only call dangerous. "Because messing with you is so much more fun, Mick," she said and he gripped her hips hard when it looked like she was about to dive in and kiss him.

"Don't even fucking think about it," he said, practically growling, "You try and kiss me, I will dump you on your ass."

She pouted, "Why not, just one little kiss to help out a friend!"

He smiled instead of shaking his head, but he knew it wasn't a nice smile. "I don't kiss," he said, "And I'm certainly not going to start off with a girl, so you can sit on me all you like, but I ain't kissing you."

After a minute, she laughed. "Alright," she said, her fingers tugging at the back of his hair, "But Jesus, you need to learn to not be so uptight about shit."

He just rolled his eyes.

Tessa handed out the shots, a smirk on her face and they clinked glasses in that way they always did now before knocking them back. Not one of them flinched, they were far too used to the taste of vodka for that. Mickey gripped Tony's hips hard in retribution for the way that she leant in and the tip of her tongue flicked out to catch the vodka wetting the corner of his mouth.

He gave her a warning look.

"What, it wasn't a kiss," she said, smiling and leaning back a little bit, her thighs tightening against his in a way that he thought was just weird. He didn't understand girls and he didn't understand straight boys for liking them. The way Tony's crotch was pressed up against his did absolutely nothing for him. He liked to feel a hard bulge against his, two cocks rubbing against each other through denim, not. . .  _this_.

She leant back to snag two beers off the tray and handed one to him, smirking when he downed about half of it in one go.

"Seriously, Mick?" Tessa asked suddenly, smiling at him in a way that was more of a sarcastic look than anything else, "Having Tony in your lap doesn't turn you on,  _at all_."

"Not even in the slightest," he said seriously and then looked back at Tony, "Can you feel anything going on down there?"

Tony laughed. "Nope," she said, "Mr Happy's kinda cranky at the moment."

He groaned under his breath. "Please never refer to my dick like that, ever again," he said, lifting the hand off her hip that wasn't holding his beer to rub at his bottom lip, "And after seeing Tony eat ribs, it kind of stop you from seeing her as attractive ever again."

She pulled his hair sharply, jerking his head back, but he just laughed.

"I like meat," she said, "Fucking sue me."

Tessa laughed, "There is kind of a splash zone when you eat ribs though, you have to admit."

Tony just flipped her off.

He stretched back a little, relaxing against the couch, because Tony wasn't really heavy at all and he was finding it weird that aside from the fact that it felt fucking weird having her sitting on him like that, it wasn't uncomfortable at all. He glanced around the club and felt his dick twitch in his trousers.

"Are you finally getting turned on by this or something?" Tony asked him suddenly, looking surprised, but then she followed his line of sight to entrance to the club. She snorted. "Seriously?" she asked, "Hot girl sitting in your lap gets nothing, but seeing him walk in make Mr Happy spring to life?"

He tore his eyes away from where Ian had just walked in with Lip and Mandy and narrowed his eyes at her, "What did I just say about referring to my dick like that?"

"Fine, I'll just come up with a more inventive name," she replied, shifting a little which made him cringe. "Don't pull that face," she said, laughing, "You're the one who had to get hard, I'm just trying to find a comfortable position again."

She wriggled again and he bit back a curse. "Just for fuck's sake stop moving," he ground out between clenched teeth, "That just feels fucking wrong."

"Well at least we know he's definitely gay," Tessa muttered before they all jumped as Katy sprang up from her seat, shouting, "Lip!" She wrapped her arms around the poor guy's neck and hugged him tight enough that Mickey suspected he was probably turning purple. Beside him, Mandy's jaw clenched and she looked like she was seconds away from punching Katy.

"Kate, leave the poor guy alone," Tessa said before he could.

Katy detached herself and fell back down beside Mickey and he reached out and pinched her thigh before he could stop himself. She yelped and on his lap, Tony laughed.

"Good to see you're not a dead man," Tessa said, forever the talkative one, "We were placing bets."

Lip pulled a face at her and looped an arm around a stiff Mandy's waist, pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Well, I think she finally forgave me," he said, "But I hear you tried to do Mickey in last night." He was looking at Katy when he spoke and even in the dim lighting of the club, they all saw the blush spreading across her cheeks.

"That was not my fault," she muttered, refusing to look at Mickey.

Tony snorted, "Yeah it was her alter ego."

"I really am sorry Mick," Katy said, touching the side of his head lightly, her eyes wide and pleading. Her fingertips lingered on the side of his neck, near to his pulse and he could remember when it used to freak him out how much they liked to touch. He didn't know it was a girl thing, or if it was just something that was found everywhere other than in his house, but the three girls liked to hug and grab onto him and sling arms around his shoulders. They liked to touch, to hold on to something or sometimes it was just lingering touches on his wrists, arms or face that he thought was their way of checking he was still there. Or maybe it was their way of trying to get him to loosen up. It had stopped bothering him so much, but it had taken a while to get used to it.

"It's fine," he said with complete conviction, staring back at her, "Seriously, just fucking forget about it."

"Trust me, he's probably been hit a hell of a lot harder than that in the past," Ian said, drawing all attention to him. He grinned and even though it wasn't his full watt shit-eating grin that Mickey had burned into his memory, it was still something.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Mick, seriously!" Tony yelled at him, clambering backwards off of his lap, scowling.

Beside him Tessa and Katy laughed and he edged aside slightly so that Tony could fit herself back onto the couch. She draped her one of her legs over the top of Mickey's and he put an arm around her shoulders because he knew from the way her elbow dug lightly into his side that she wanted him to play along still because of her ex.

"You still owe me a round," he said to Lip, flicking Tessa in the ear just because he could reach. She scowled at him but didn't do anything.

Lip rolled his eyes. "You know you're about as subtle as a brick to the face," he said, but he didn't make it sound like a criticism like he would have done before Mickey left Chicago, "What do you want?"

"Get us some shots," Katy said, bouncing a little in her seat, "I want to see if you can actually hold it all down this time." Lip went a little bit green at the memory of the last time he'd been over and they'd made him do shots until he threw up.

"I want something colourful," Tony said, batting her eyelashes at Lip in a way that made Mandy tense up.

"I want never gets," he said, ruffling her hair.

She slapped at his arm. "Fuck's sake, do you always have to be a dick?" she asked, trying to flatten down her hair with her hands, "You  _know_  this took me ages to get just right."

Mickey snorted, "It looks just the same as it usually does." He only just caught the fist that was aimed at his face, squeezing just a little to make the muscle under Tony's eye twitch like it did whenever something was hurting her but she didn't want to show it.

Lip wandered off with a chuckle and Mickey found that he couldn't avoid it any longer. Mandy was standing right there in front of him, Ian beside her, but it was his sister that he focussed on this time. She looked good without all the colours in her hair that had been there in all of his memories. After another hinting elbow to the ribs from Tony, he rose from his seat and stood in front of Mandy sort of sheepishly.

"Hey Mands," he muttered, just loud enough for her to be able to hear him over the music.

In true Milkovich style, she punched him in the face right before pulling him into a hug, her arms locked tight around his neck and her face pressed into the side of his head. "I fucking hate you," she said in his ear, her voice broken sounding.

"Missed you too bitch," he replied, lifting her off the ground to make her squeal.


	12. Chapter 12

Mickey introduced the girls he was with to Mandy as Tessa, Tony and Katy. Ian could see the muscles in Mandy's jaw working as she ground her teeth together, obviously trying to work out why the hell Mickey had suddenly decided that he wanted friends. And there was something weirdly possessive about the way that they were sitting with him, some part of them almost always touching him.

And when they'd walked in, the girl from the ring, Tony had been straddling Mickey's lap in a way that said she owned him. And even when they all squeezed onto the couch, Mickey squeezed between Tessa and Mandy, the bartender had her legs thrown over both of Mickey's and her fingers curled around his forearm.

That wouldn't have bothered Ian in the slightest if Mickey hadn't seemed so damn fine with it. In Ian's mind, Mickey was the one who shunned all forms of unnecessary contact, unnecessary meaning not related to fucking. But here he was, accepting the touch from someone Ian didn't even know like it was completely normal and fine. Maybe that was what it had become, but it still bothered Ian. And it bothered him that it bothered him at all, which was just fucking stupid.

"So how did you guys meet?" Mandy asked, motioning to none of the girls in particular, but all of them at the same time.

"He knocked out the friend of a guy I kicked in the nuts," Katy said with a smile on her face.

"I equalled him in a shots competition," Tony replied, "And Tessa served us the booze."

"And now they won't fucking leave me alone," Mickey muttered, which earned him a slap around the back of the head from Tessa. He laughed like Ian hadn't really seen him laugh before, ruffling the hair on the back of his head as he looked sideways at Tessa.

He reached out a casual arm, dropping it around her shoulders, but Tessa suddenly squealed and lurched off of the couch. "Not happening Milkovich!" she crossed her arms over her chest, "Leave my tits alone!"

Ian was sort of glad for the way that Mandy's eyebrows flew up and she shrugged at him, obviously not understanding the change in Mickey's character any more than he was. Lip just laughed, "You still doing that?"

"Her fault for getting her tit pierced in the first place," Mickey commented and Tessa flipped him off.

"Let's dance," she said, holding out a hand to Tony. The red haired girl laughed and gripped her fingers, lurching up off the couch as Tessa pulled her forwards with surprising strength. Then again, none of them seemed like the sort of girls who could just be walked all over. Ian supposed that probably had something to do with Mickey liking them.

Ian couldn't stop himself from wondering though whether there was one that he liked in particular. Because somehow that would have made more sense to him than them all just being friends, but it still made him feel sick to think of it. And the three girls were all as clingy as each other. As seen by how Katy immediately slid into Tessa's vacated spot, pressing up next to Mickey and touching his bruised cheek lightly.

Mickey didn't even seem to notice.

Ian couldn't stop himself from wondering though whether there was one that he liked in particular. Because somehow that would have made more sense to him than them all just being friends, but it still made him feel sick to think of it. And the three girls were all as clingy as each other. As seen by how Katy immediately slid into Tessa's vacated spot, pressing up next to Mickey and touching his bruised cheek lightly.

Mickey didn't even seem to notice.

He couldn't help noticing that Mickey didn't look at him. His eyes kept flitting around the club, but they purposefully missed him out. It was almost like he wasn't even sitting there. And Ian didn't know whether he was supposed to take that as a good or a bad thing. It wasn't like he wasn't used to Mickey giving him the cold shoulder it was just that. . . he didn't know. He was used to feeling something other than a dull ache in his chest in response.

And then there was the fact that the girls kept looking at him like they knew him. It was something in the way that they smiled after he met their eyes. Like they knew everything there was to know. And he couldn't help but feel that sometimes they were assessing him.

"Fuck. . . Mickey," Katy's hand clamped down on Mickey's forearm and she pointed into the throng of dancing bodies. They could see Tessa and Tony clearly because of Tony's hair. It made her stand out like a beacon.

They all watched as a guy towered off Tony, talking to her, but in a heartbeat Mickey was off the couch and walking over. Ian told himself he only followed because it didn't make sense to him that Mickey would react so quickly, it didn't have anything to do with the fact that he was a little bit jealous.

"Fuck off," Mickey said, his voice low and dangerous just like it had always used to be. He dropped an arm around Tony's shoulders and Ian didn't miss the way she instantly relaxed. He thought it was weird, because for some reason Mickey had used to have that effect on him as well. Not anymore though, Ian couldn't ever remember being so tense before.

"Who the fuck are you?"

Mickey's lips twisted into a sneer and Ian wondered if the fingers that Tony dug into his waist were to keep him in check. "The guy who's gonna put you in the hospital if you don't back the fuck off," Mickey replied and Ian thought it was a little worrying that the edge to the ex-con's voice made him hard.

The guy actually laughed and Ian could see a muscle jumping in Mickey's jaw, the tell-tale sign that meant that shit was about to hit the fan. "Looks like you already had the shit kicked out of you," the guy said, "And you really think you can do anything to me?"

Mickey smirked and lifted his arm off of Tony's shoulders, rubbing his bottom lip with a finger. Tony and Tessa both took a step backwards, standing either side of Ian and he knew that Tessa was looking at him. But he was too busy watching Mickey. He couldn't take his eyes off the ripple of muscles in Mickey's back when the ex-con rolled his shoulders. There was only a split second between Mickey shifting his stance and his fist connecting with the guy's face.

Ian grabbed a hold of Mickey's shoulders before he could land another punch, having already seen the bouncers making their way over. He wrapped an arm across Mickey's chest when he struggled and had to close his eyes for a split second because it was too familiar. The feel of Mickey pressed back against him was enough to make Ian's brain short circuit. His skin was too hot under Ian's hand, practically burning, but Ian didn't know if that was just his imagination or whether it was actually real. Mickey still smelt like same, like sweat, cigarettes, peppermint and something that was just completely unique to Mickey.

"Mick, calm down," Ian said, his mouth close to Mickey's ear and he pretended not to see the goosebumps on Mickey's neck that his breath raised, "You don't need to hit him again." The guy didn't look like he was going to get up any time soon.

He could feel Mickey's heartbeat against the inside of his forearm and it was practically thundering, like an army was marching through the ex-con's chest. They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity but was probably nothing more than a handful of seconds. Mickey seemed froze in place and he took a deep breath that Ian could feel rattling through the older guy's chest and then Mickey jerked away.

"Get the fuck off me," he snarled, not even looking at Ian when he spoke. He spat on the floor near the guy he'd hit and then took a few steps. "Let's get the fuck out of here."

"Place fucking sucks anyway," Tony said, laughing at nothing in particular and following the path that Mickey carved through the crowd as he walked towards the entrance.

Fingertips pressed into Ian's back and he looked down into Tessa's face. She smiled weakly and looked like she wanted to say something, but she obviously didn't know what. In the end she just settled for nodding once before following after Mickey as well.

"Told you not to wear that fucking dress," Mickey said when they stopped a couple of blocks away. He leant against a wall and lit up a cigarette. He blew smoke out of his nostrils and didn't complain at all when Katy plucked it out of his hand.

Tony snorted and smoothed her hands down her front. "Yeah, but I look fucking hot," she said, taking the cigarette off of Katy. Mickey had already lit another.

"You look like a whore," Mickey muttered.

"Fuck off."

There had been no venom in Mickey's voice at all and Tony was just grinning, which for some reason made Ian feel out of place. Mickey still hadn't looked at him, but Ian had given up thinking he was going to. If he concentrated, he could still feel Mickey's heartbeat against his forearm.

"Still as aggressive as ever," Mandy said and she sounded weirdly proud.

Mickey just spat on the ground again, because honestly, there really wasn't any point in him answering that.


	13. Chapter 13

"This is so not masculine," Mandy commented as soon as she walked through the door to Mickey's apartment and looked around, "Like at all, seriously!"

"Fuck off," he muttered, flipping her off, "I dare you to try living with these fuckheads." He motioned around him at none of them in particular, but grunted when Tony landed on his back. And he knew it was Tony because not only was she heavier than the others, but she also landed on him in a way that was actually designed to bring him down.

The other two just sort of jumped haphazardly.

"You know you love us really," Tessa said, laughing and Mickey flipped Tony over his shoulder. He was nice enough to make sure she landed on the couch though, so all that happened was she let out a slight grunt as the air rushed out of her lungs and then glared at him a little.

Mickey just smirked back and scratched his collarbone. His skin felt like it was on fire and all because of one stupid fucking touch. He'd been careful not to look at Firecrotch all night, because not only did it make things uncomfortable in the downstairs department, but for some fucked up reason he was also scared that somehow Ian would manage to work something out that Mickey didn't want him to know just from one look. The guy had always been weird like that, so Mickey simply didn't look.

He hated how annoying it was that it was actually a difficult task.

But the way Ian had held him back, the touch burning against Mickey's flesh, making him want to squirm, Mickey's entire brain had just shut down. It was stupid, he knew it was stupid, but he couldn't help it. He blamed the fact he hadn't been expecting it, he blamed the fact that it had actually been a while since he'd had even half-decent sex and Gallagher had definitely – worryingly – been the best fuck he'd ever had.

He wasn't sure what was actually the truth though.

Katy cracked open some of the beers from the fridge and handed them around and Mickey took special care not to notice the way Ian tipped his head back as he drank, or how long his fingers were as they curled around the can, or even the way his Adams apple bobbed up and down and drew attention to that tantalizingly tender expanse of neck. Mickey remembered when that place used to bare the marks of his teeth. Judging by the look that Tessa gave him, he wasn't as subtle as he thought.

"We got any food?" Mickey asked nobody in particular even as he opened up the breadbin on the side and peered inside.

"Mickey, you hate those," Katy said, probably thinking she was being helpful. He was holding one of those healthy muffins of Tessa's that tasted a bit like paper. But all Mickey could think was  _fuck it, I'm hungry_ , so he just shrugged.

Mickey took a bite out of the muffin and then froze, looking up at Tessa, who was grinning. "Don't even fucking think about it," he warned, his voice low, almost dangerous, except there's no real venom in it. And he wished there was, because he didn't want her to say what he knew she was going to, not in front of his sister of all people.

Tessa just laughed, "What, all I was going to say was that that's the only muffin you're ever going to look enthusiastic about eating."

And he didn't even look enthusiastic about eating it, which said a lot.

Mickey froze and scowled, and his gaze slid sideways to his sister, because if he didn't gage her reaction he was going to have to look at Ian and that was an even worse option. "What's that supposed to mean?" Mandy asked and she sounded so confused that Mickey almost felt guilty.

"You know, muffin as in pussy," Tessa said, looking at Mandy like maybe she was dumb.

He could practically taste the fact that the shit was going to hit the fan.

It was the frantic gestures that Mickey found himself making at Tessa that made the penny drop and then Tony slapped him upside the head. "What the fuck, Mickey!" she looked like she was about ready to hit him again, "You haven't told her?"

"Haven't told me what?"

Mickey cringed at his sister's question, but also because Tony was stalking him around the table now and Tessa and Katy weren't looking at him in any more favourable way. He was screwed. If he didn't fess up, they were going to for him. And he knew it would only sound worse coming from them. Shit always did, because the girls had no concept of tact or subtlety at all. Sometimes he found it funny, other time it made him want to shoot himself in the head.

"Mickey?" Mandy asked and her voice was low and sort of dangerous, it had that edge to it that every Milkovich seemed to possess. But it was her eyes that freaked him out, because he could practically see her thoughts through them. And he hated knowing that she thought he'd already lied to her and abandoned her enough, she thought it wasn't fair that these girls knew what she didn't.

And okay, no it wasn't fair. But could anyone really blame Mickey given who their father was?

"It's not a big deal or anything," he said, even though it was kind of a lie. He didn't know how he was supposed to phrase this. He didn't know how to say it in a way that wouldn't make him vomit. "It's just um. . ."

He didn't even know what the hell he was trying to say here. Well, he did. It was just the fact that the denial ran so deep in his veins that he didn't know how to actually say it. He wasn't sure he ever had said it before actually. Sure, he'd nodded when asked, had commented on whether or not a guy was fugly, but he'd never actually come out and said the words.

"Mickey, if it doesn't matter, then just say it," Mandy said, chewing her bottom lip like she always did when she was worried.

But that was the thing, it did matter. It was a big deal, because this was Mickey's possible murder that they were talking about here. Having three girls who'd never actually been to Chicago know about him was something he could handle just about, but it was different with his sister. His sister could run off and tell his brothers or his Dad and then Mickey would wind up dead in a gutter, as simple as that.

"I. . ."

Someone sighed, he wasn't sure who.

"What he's trying to tell you is that he's gay."

Mickey's head snapped around to glare at Ian, because glaring wasn't really looking and it would have been fucking stupid not to look at him then. Ian was just leaning casually against the wall, staring at Mickey like he was daring him to flip out, or even worse deny it.

The worst part though, was that he could tell that Ian was sort of enjoying this. He probably thought it was karma or some shit like that. Maybe it was. He glared at Ian for another second, but he wasn't about to let the redhead win. Ian obviously him to flip out, to shout and curse and deny everything, probably thought Mickey was going to punch him in the face. Other people did too if the way that Lip edged closer to his brother was anything to go by. But the thing was, Mickey didn't like doing things that people expected of him and proving people wrong was just fun for shits and giggles.

So that was why he just picked his beer up off the table and took a nonchalant swig from it, looking away from Gallagher because he may be proving the guy wrong, but he couldn't look at him anymore. It was just too hard – in more ways than one.

"Is he serious?" Mandy asked, but it was obvious she had already found the answer in Mickey's facial expressions.

Mickey rubbed at his bottom lip nervously and would have offered her a weak smile if he hadn't known it would have just come out like a smirk. So he said nothing, but that didn't really matter because Mandy was already talking again.

" _Fuck_ ," she muttered under her breath and Mickey was actually impressed she was taking it quite well until her eyes went all wide and watery and he tensed, "Shit, is that why you... I mean when you were in jail, is that why you tried to. . . you know?"

And he honestly didn't have a clue what she was on about, which was why he just gave her a blank expression and said, "What the hell are you on about?" It was the look on Lip's face that made the penny drop. "Fuck no, that shit had nothing to do with me being gay."

She stared at him like she didn't believe him and he fidgeted. He'd actually been hoping that that wouldn't come up, but he'd been more preoccupied about them having worked out why he did it rather than worrying about how his sister would have reacted to finding out that he'd slit his own wrists.

He wondered though afterwards whether indirectly he'd lied to his sister. Because slitting his wrists had sort of been about being gay. Well, at least in that he'd done it because he had stupid shitty feelings for another guy.

"Why did you?" Mandy asked and she looked nervous, like she knew Mickey wasn't going to want to answer her. But he could also tell she'd been wondering about the answer to that question for a while; and there was that stupid motherfucking guilt again.

He forced himself to shrug, seem calm and not look at Lip. "Shits and giggles," he lied, his tone harsh, "It doesn't matter, it's done with and it's not like I fucking died anyway, is it?"

He'd done what had needed to be done and he'd succeeded as far as he was concerned. They just didn't need to know that it had never been about killing himself. He knew she didn't like that answer, but Mandy was smart enough not to press for answers. He didn't think he'd ever loved his sister more than in that moment when she decided to keep her fat trap shut.


	14. Chapter 14

Mickey would admit that he actually forgot that his sister, Lip and fucking Ian Gallagher were still at his apartment when he first woke up. He especially managed to forget that his sister had rung up Fiona to ask her to look after Michael for a few more days; and of course she'd said yes because Fiona was far too used to taking care of kids who weren't even her own.

When he heard someone pounding on the front door, Mickey rolled off the couch without a second thought and in nothing but his boxers answered it. He didn't even stop to think why the hell he was on the couch in the first place.

"Fuck off," he growled when he saw who was on the other side of the door, glaring about as well as he could while wearing very little and being as tired as fuck. He stared at the person standing in front of him, a guy just a little bit younger than him, a tiny bit taller, blonde-haired, blue-eyed and as annoying as fuck.

Admittedly, Mickey did find a hell of a lot of things annoying, but this guy was on a whole other level.

"Mickey," his face split into a wide grin that made Mickey want to gouge his own eyeballs out. It was like he didn't even notice the fact that Mickey was scowling at him. "I knew you were in."

"Where the fuck else would I be Josh, it's six o'clock in the fucking morning!" Mickey snarled, gritting his teeth. It was too fucking early for him to be awake without having pulled an all-nighter. He was really considering just punching the guy in the face and walking away. Except then he'd probably just sit on the doorstep crying and Tessa would kick his ass.

He fidgeted a little and Mickey cursed under his breath because now the guy was fucking blushing, like there was even a reason at all. "Well how about we go get some breakfast?" he asked, sounding far too up-beat for this early in the morning. It pissed Mickey off and actually kind of hurt his ears. "We could get waffles, you like waffles, right?" he asked, bouncing around on the spot and making Mickey want to kick him, "I'll buy, but you will sort of have to get dressed."

Mickey ground his teeth together and heard his jaw crack. "What part of fuck off, do you never understand?" he asked harshly, clenching and unclenching his fists down by his sides, "You really need to stop fucking coming here."

He hadn't come around in about a week, so Mickey had sort of hoped that he would have taken the hint. Apparently not.

"But Mick –"

"Babe, what you doing awake?"

Mickey remembered why the fuck he'd been staying on the couch when an arm snaked around his stomach at the same time as fingers gripped his hip. Ian Gallagher breathed hotly on the side of Mickey's neck and he couldn't help himself, he shivered. He blamed Gallagher's scent as it seemed to wrap around him from every angle. And he also blamed the fact that he could feel the muscles in Ian's chest hard against his back and it was almost enough to make his eyes cross.

"Trying to get this fuckwit to understand something," he replied, hoping Ian didn't notice the slight tremor in his voice.

The redhead chuckled low in his ear, the sound sending small shocks, like electricity, through Mickey's body. It felt like every single one of his nerve endings was on fire. "What doesn't he understand exactly?" Ian asked and Mickey could tell he was fucking enjoying this. He flicked his tongue out and tasted the skin just behind Mickey's ear, making him shiver again.

"That just because we fucked once, does not make me his fucking boyfriend," Mickey ground out through his teeth, clenching them now partly because he was pissed off and partly because he hoped maybe it would help stop that fucking needy edge to his voice.

Behind him, Ian choked on his laugh and Mickey sort of wished he knew what the redhead was thinking. "Trust me mate, Mickey's never going to belong to anyone," he said, the humour light in his voice, but Mickey could have sworn he heard some strain underneath it, "I tried for a lot longer than you and I fucked him a lot more times than once, so I'd just quit while you're ahead."

Ian's teeth grazed his pulse point on his neck and it jumped erratically at the sensation. Mickey had to stop himself from jerking away, but also from pressing closer into Ian's touch. It was fucking ridiculous, which was why he wanted to run. But the thought that Ian was convinced Mickey had never belonged to him was making him feel sick. Mickey had to bite down hard on the corner of his mouth because he didn't know how to say the words to let Ian know that he still did belong to him. That he always would, as sad as that was. But Mickey didn't even want to say them, so it didn't matter if he didn't know how. That was what he told himself anyway.

"Oh. . . um. . ." Joshua was watching them, obviously taking in the fact that Mickey seemed a hell of a lot more relaxed being touched by Ian than he ever had done him. Mickey had shunned any unnecessary touch, sort of like he'd used to do with Gallagher, except to a much more dramatic extreme. "So are you two like. . ." he trailed off again, obviously not knowing how the hell he was supposed to define it.

He wouldn't be the only one, not that it fucking mattered anymore.

"Yeah," Ian said bluntly, his fingers splaying on Mickey's bare stomach and pressing them closer together. Ian pressed a kiss to the underside of Mickey's jaw and the ex-con knew the younger guy had felt him tense. It was impossible to miss given how close they were plastered together. Although, they'd been closer in the past.

With a nod, Joshua left and as soon as Ian reached forwards and nudged the door shut, Mickey was squirming. "You can get the fuck off me now," he said, his voice low and dangerous to hide the fact that he'd never been more nervous in his entire life. He thought Ian could probably tell anyway.

Laughing, Ian stepped backed, letting go of him and Mickey's skin felt like it was burning. "You're welcome by the way," he said, over-confident, his eyes meeting Mickey's briefly before he walked back into his room. Like that hadn't just happened and Mickey's hear wasn't threatening to beat out of his chest.

Gritting his teeth, Mickey pretended the pain in his gut was hunger and not because Ian's brisk nature made it pretty obvious Mickey meant nothing at all anymore. Not that he'd expected to, but it still sucked. Then again, Mickey didn't exactly have a good track record for things working out in his life, so he didn't know why he was surprised.


	15. Chapter 15

Inside of the room he was staying in, Ian pressed his forehead against the shut door and just breathed. Katy was staying with Tessa and Mandy and Lip had taken Mickey's room, putting the ex-con on the couch. And just knowing that Mickey was sleeping not far away, with nothing but a piece of wood in between them had Ian sleeping very little.

He knew it wasn't the same for Mickey, judging by the bone-rattling snores he could hear from the other room; but then Ian had always been the one to feel the most. It was like he was in tune with Mickey or something, because the moment Mickey moved in the other room, he was awake. He had listened to Mickey opening the front door and had heard the harsh words. He'd been out of bed before he could stop himself.

Afterwards, he knew it had been a stupid move, but he just hadn't been able to stop himself. He put it down to how addictive touching Mickey's flesh was. Something that had been an addiction only worsened when he'd looped an arm around Mickey's stomach. He knew the only reason Mickey didn't punch him in the face had been out of desperation to make the guy on the other side of the threshold leave. But Ian had liked to pretend for just a minute that them being like that was natural. It never had been though.

And Ian knew there was never going to be an opportunity like that again, so he'd taken advantage of it. He almost came in his pants like a needy teenager at the taste of Mickey's skin when he'd touched his tongue just behind Mickey's ear and the action as simple as pressing a kiss underneath Mickey's jaw had had his pulse speeding up.

He told himself it didn't count as cheating when it wasn't something that was ever going to be reciprocated and because it had only been to help Mickey out after all. For no other reason.

Unfortunately, repeating that to himself like a mantra didn't really seem to help much.

It shouldn't have even been possible for Mickey to get under his skin anymore. As far as Ian was concerned, he should still be mad at Mickey for leaving like he did. Hell, Mickey hadn't even really looked at him since that incident in the cage, not even when Ian had helped him out just. And that should have told Ian all he needed to know, but instead he was sticking around instead of going back to Chicago and his  _boyfriend_. He had to keep reminding himself that he had one of those.

He blamed the fact that Mickey looked good. Even he couldn't deny that. And in some weird way, he seemed calmer, like he wasn't in a rush to get absolutely nowhere. He was still a dick, that would never change, but he was a little more mellowed out than he had been before. Ian wouldn't quite go as far as to say Mickey was relaxed, but he had still changed ever so slightly.

He kept telling himself that it would be so much easier if he just left, because sticking around near Mickey was only going to turn out badly for him both short term and in the long run. He didn't know what he was expecting to happen, but he just knew that for some reason he was expecting something. He thought maybe it was curiosity, because Lip had had to be coming to visit Mickey regularly for a reason and Mickey had to have a reason for running in the first place. They both seemed pretty determined to keep it to themselves, which meant it was a big deal as well.

And then there was the secret of why Mickey had slit his wrists. He'd said it hadn't had anything to do with him being gay and Ian was getting the feeling that it hadn't even had anything to do with suicide at all. Which didn't make sense, but he'd always felt like he'd known Mickey. Or at least he felt like he knew Mickey well enough to be able to put a pretty confident bet on Mickey never having been suicidal in his life. Not even when he'd slit his own wrists and almost bled out in his Juvie cell.

Mickey wouldn't tell him. Hell, the guy wouldn't even look at him. But even if he had been doing, Mickey wouldn't cave easily and just give in and spill all of his secrets. Ian would have to poke and prod them out of him, which was always easier said than done because Mickey was a stubborn son of a bitch.

He didn't even fucking know why he was so desperate for answers. He knew he shouldn't give a shit. Mickey's business was Mickey's business, none of it concerned him anymore. None of it had ever really concerned him at all. The ex-con had always made it pretty clear Ian didn't mean much to him at all, if anything. So why did Ian want to stick around now?

Maybe because he was a stupid bastard and loved inflicting pain on himself in the form of a dark-haired, tattooed and grimy ex-convict.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, even though it came out more as a sigh.

He fell down onto the bed again and curled up in a ball, bunching up the covers in his fists and clinging on practically for dear life. He didn't feel like he was cut out for any of this, for dealing with Mickey, but he couldn't stop himself. So he just lay there and listened hard for the sounds of Mickey's snores rattling through the living room, but instead all he heard was the familiar deep, slightly scratchy breathing that he could have sworn was a little closer to the door than the couch was. But he could have been wrong.

He had to be wrong.


	16. Chapter 16

Mickey didn't mind having his sister and Lip there, because it felt like he owed it to Mandy and Lip was just someone who had always blended right in to his life whenever he visited. But it was having Gallagher there, the  _other_  Gallagher. The one who walked around in Mickey's pyjama bottoms and bonded with the girls to the point where they took him fucking shopping. Like Ian needed to get any gayer.

It was just something about having Gallagher around. It was undoing him at the seams and Mickey didn't like not being in control. Because he had always been in control. Well, almost always anyway. It had always been Ian who'd made him feel like everything was spiralling out of control, which was just stupid.

The only saving grace that he had was that he knew eventually the torture was going to be over and Ian was going to go back to Chicago and everything would return more or less to normal. That was the only good thing. But typically, that had to go and be ruined, didn't it?

Mickey's boss had given him two days off since he hadn't claimed any holiday time since he'd started working there, but in the end he didn't even need to use those days since they wound up at the club anyway. And since Mickey was there, he might as well be in the ring.

He was fighting one of the guys who the boss hired, one he'd fought before and Mickey gave the poor bastard a mock salute because he did sort of have to hand it to people who were willing to get back into the ring with him. It was over in under five minutes and Mickey relished the feeling of blood smeared across his knuckles, bruises already forming. He'd never get tired of being in the ring, he already knew that.

But then it was basically a legal excuse to kick someone's ass and he was a Milkovich after all.

The worst part of it though, was that there was something oddly addictive about knowing that Gallagher was watching him. Mickey could see Ian's eyes on him and it triggered something inside of him that was more powerful than adrenaline. He couldn't explain it and it was really fucking stupid, but it made the fights better so he supposed he couldn't complain too much.

As blood thirsty as ever – a true Milkovich even if she didn't carry that name anymore – Mandy was the one who screamed the loudest and Mickey knew the thoughts were stupid, but he was pleased. Because he'd never done anything before that could make his sister proud. Mickey wasn't the sort to be able to do shit like that, but every time he won a fight, the look on his sister's face made him want to smile back. He didn't, but that didn't mean that he didn't consider it for like half a second.

When he walked out of the cage for the last time, Tony came over and that wasn't anything unusual, but he could tell by the way that she smiled at him and then chewed the corner of her mouth that she wanted something. She wiped away a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth where his split lip had been re-opened. Mickey still hadn't healed up much and he knew he probably looked like a sight, but he was flying on adrenaline and didn't fucking feel a thing.

"What?" Mickey asked her, raising his eyebrows and watching as she rocked back on her heels.

"I need you to do me a favour," she muttered, which came as no fucking surprise at all and he knew that showed on his face from the way that she rolled her eyes. He just crossed his arms over his chest and waited, because Tony wasn't really the sort to beat around the bush much. "My cousin's coming over for a visit soon and he's a prick, but he's a prick that my parents listen to," she said, rubbing the back of her neck and scowling a little bit, "He's all high and mighty because he's a doctor and married with kids and all that shit and he's coming for a visit."

Mickey frowned ever so slightly, "And how the fuck does this affect me?"

If she was going to ask whether another fucking person could stay in their flat he was going to strangle someone, because the queue to the bathroom was getting ridiculous, but even Mickey didn't have the heart to boot his sister out into a hotel. And not only Mandy, but also the other three girls would put his nuts in a vice if he tried to get rid of Ian. So Mickey just suffered in silence, but there was only so much he could take.

"I need you to like threaten him or something," she said, batting her eyelashes at him, "Just scare him and make sure he doesn't go running back to my parents and tell them about the shit I do here."

Which basically meant, make sure her parents don't find out that she wasn't a little angel with a desk job. Tony's family were really conservative, which Mickey found fucking hilarious given what their daughter was like. Mickey had seen pictures of them and they looked all straight-laced and so normal that it made Mickey's teeth ache. They hated violence and drinking and smoking and any shit that wasn't respectable, so Tony was basically their worst nightmare.

They'd all tried persuading Tony to just tell her parents the truth and tell them to go fuck themselves, because watching the girl put on a wig and leave the apartment dressed up like a fucking nun was ridiculous. Hilarious, admittedly, but it was still stupid. Of course, trying to get Tony to admit that to her parents was like trying to get Mickey to run through the streets of Southside Chicago with a gay pride flag, it wasn't going to happen. Because Mickey liked his head on his shoulders and so did Tony. The girl could fight in the ring, but she was never going to take on her parents.

"We talking about persuading with my fists here, or just threatening a little bit?" he asked, thumbing at the corner of his mouth.

Tony shrugged, which told him that she held absolutely no love for her cousin at all. "Just don't damage him too badly and I don't give a shit," she replied and then stared at him with wide eyes, pouting slightly in a way that was just stupid, "So is that a yes?"

He rolled his eyes, "Well it's not exactly like I was going to be nice anyway, so yeah sure, whatever."

Tony squealed and jumped up, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist and making him actually sort of hate her in that moment. The response to hug her back slightly was automatic and he dug his fingertips into her skin just a little bit too hard to make sure she would let go quickly. He also wanted her to let go because he knew a lot of men in the room were enjoying the sight of her ass.

"I love you," she announced, pressing a kiss to his bruised cheek and grinning at him in a way that was all teeth.

"You won't if you don't fucking get off me," he retorted, a muscle in his jaw jumping about.

Tony just rolled her eyes, but let him go anyway.

And the night wasn't going that badly by the standards that Mickey had set for having Ian Gallagher around. He still didn't really like looking at him, especially not after that incident with Joshua. Mickey had scrubbed himself practically raw in the shower, but he still couldn't get the feel of Ian's skin against his off. And it wasn't that it was a bad feeling, not at all. But that was exactly why Mickey had to get rid of it.

They drank just like they'd been doing every night since Lip had turned up with followers in tow and Mickey knew it probably wasn't good for his liver, but he'd be damned if he gave a shit. Ian didn't really try and talk to him either, which he thought was odd, but then they probably didn't have much to say to each other anymore if he was being honest. Especially not if Ian wasn't going to talk, because Mickey had never been good with words anyway.

"Are you definitely sure you're gay?" Mandy asked for like the millionth time, her voice low so no one could overhear them even though nobody was really near them anyway at their end of the bar. He appreciated her effort, even if her constantly asking that question was starting to piss him off. Tessa told him he had to be patient because it wasn't her fault she'd had no fucking clue at all.

Mickey rolled his eyes, "Positive, yeah."

"So have you like, fucked guys then?" Mandy asked, her cheeks turning a little pink because she obviously hadn't ever expected to be asking him that.

Nearby, Ian choked on his drink and Mickey looked in his direction for a second before looking quickly away. He didn't want Mandy to know that he'd fucked Gallagher, because Mandy wasn't as thick as people though and she'd probably be able to piece some stuff together. Especially since his sister knew him. She'd know how far he'd be willing to go if he actually gave a shit about something.

"What makes you think you're brother's the one doing the fucking?" Tessa asked, smirking and Mickey was pleased that Tony smacked her around the back of the head because he couldn't quite reach and he felt uncomfortable hitting girls.

Mandy stared at him, her eyes practically bugging out of her head.

"Don't look at me like that," he said quickly, deciding between fight or flight and knowing that if he bolted, chances were one of the girls would take him down before he'd even gotten out of his seat fully, "I'd like to see you take a dick up the ass without wincing." Realising what he just said, Mickey pulled a face, "Actually, no I wouldn't, but you get what I mean."

He thought if someone shot him right then, it would be a mercy.

"Do you think Ian's hot?" Mandy asked randomly and Mickey was seconds away from seeking out a gun himself.

A strange sensation started up in the pit of his stomach. He didn't know what it was and he didn't particularly want to either. "Why the fuck are you asking me that?" he asked, flat out refusing to look at Ian and hoping his expression remained completely neutral.

Mandy rolled her eyes. "You are such a drama queen," she muttered under her breath, "And I was only asking because Ian's gay too."

"You do know just because two guys are gay, doesn't mean they automatically have to be attracted to each other, right?" Ian asked and even though Mickey still didn't look at him, he agreed wholeheartedly. "And if I were you I'd stop this conversation going any further because Mickey looks about three seconds away from finding someone to shoot him in the head."

He knew surprise flickered across his features, but he couldn't help it. It was like Gallagher was in his head. Something he hadn't felt in a long time. He'd seriously hoped that Ian had lost that habit. He looked back at Ian, but thankfully the redhead was engrossed in his drink and didn't notice Mickey's stare. Mickey looked away before Ian could feel it.

They only managed to get halfway through the next conversation before Tony suddenly yelped and lurched forwards. She stood between Mickey's legs and wrapped her arms around his neck, putting her lips close to his ear.

"Fucking smile," she muttered though instead of anything sweet.

Only just resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Mickey let a smile spread across his mouth that felt weirdly out of place and he put his hands on Tony's hips for good measure. Although admittedly, that was just to make sure she didn't press too close, because that just made him fucking uncomfortable.

"Who is it this time?" he asked, his voice low and quiet even though he knew that the person she was trying to convince she had a boyfriend wasn't within earshot.

Tony pulled back a little and toyed with the bottom of his hair. "Same guy as before," she said, "The guy I used to date, I don't need his bitch making a fucking comment about how I'm incapable of getting a boyfriend."

Mickey knew what Tessa was going to say even before she opened her mouth. "Well you don't have that much luck in that department to be fair," she said, chewing the corner of her bottom lip and then dabbing at the gloss there with her thumb, "You're more a one-night stand sort of girl."

Unsurprisingly, Tony's response was just to flip her off. And Mickey would have laughed, except Tony was giving him that doe-eyed look again that made him want to set himself on fire. "What?" he asked, trying to keep his expression about as loving as it was ever going to get even though his tone was sharp. He hated it when they looked at him like that, because by some stroke of fucked up look, all three of the girls could pull off that expression.

It reminded him too much of a memory he didn't want to recall.

" _Please_  kiss me," she said, pouting slightly and leaning closer. He could taste the beer on her breath when he inhaled. "I swear only the once, but it'd look really effective and probably shut them up for like  _ever_!"

Mickey made sure his smile was fake when he leant close enough so that their noses were touching when he said, "Not going to fucking happen." He tightened his hold on her hips slightly when she tried to lean closer, no doubt to just steal a fucking kiss and be done with it. "I. Don't. Kiss." He wondered if punctuating that clearly would help at all. Probably not.

On the very edge of his vision, he saw Ian's eyes widen slightly and he wondered for a split second what he was thinking before Mandy opened her big fucking mouth and ruined it. "What do you mean you don't kiss?"

Rolling his eyes at how he knew this conversation was going to go, Mickey twisted around to look at his sister properly. "Exactly what you think it means," he replied, rubbing at his bottom lip and then picking up his beer to chug it down. Tessa refilled it without having to be asked, redeeming herself momentarily for her constant fucking comments.

"Why not?" Mandy asked in a voice slightly higher than usual, which unfortunately for him meant she was interested.  _Oh_ ,  _joy_   _of_   _joys_. "Kissing's great."

Mickey pulled a face. "I kissed a girl once and it was gross," he said after another mouthful of beer. It was at times like these when he wondered why the hell he wasn't bolting. Especially when Gallagher was hearing this conversation and he'd used to be the fucking president of the  _Mickey_   _Milkovich_   _Should_   _Start_   _Kissing_  Fan Club. "So, never happening again."

"Yeah, but you're gay," Katy put in, stating the obvious in that was she always did, "So you'd probably like kissing a guy."

Mickey stared at her for a minute and she just stared right back, choosing that moment to be fucking fearless. "Well I guess we'll never know," he said, his voice containing a sarcastic edge even though he was completely serious, "Because it is  _never_  going to happen."

He'd made his mind up on that a long time ago. He didn't do kissing. Because kissing meant something. Kissing was more intimate than fucking could ever be. And Mickey hated intimacy, it made him feel sick. So, the whole kissing thing was never going to happen.

"So you're saying you've  _never_  wanted to kiss someone before?" Lip asked and Mickey decided around about then that it was a fucking mutiny. All he needed now was for Firecrotch to start making comments and then it would be a full house and Mickey would happily go die in a hole.

"Once," he admitted, grimacing, because he knew that the majority of the people there could tell when he was lying and it just wasn't worth the hassle to even try. Especially not since he was within range of Tessa grabbing his nipples.

Mandy stared at him, looking a little incredulous for no logical reason whatsoever, "So why didn't you?" He'd forgotten that in Mandy's brain everything was so simple. Everything was divided up into what Mandy wanted to do and what she didn't. There was never any what she  _should_  do thrown in there. Whereas fear of Terry Milkovich or one of his brothers bashing his head in for being a fag had made Mickey's brain full of only  _shoulds_  and the  _wants_  he promptly ignored each and every time.

"It would have broken my rule," he said simply, shrugging his shoulders, which felt weird because Tony still had her arms around his neck. Somehow he'd managed to forget they were there, or that he still had one hand on her hip.

Tessa smirked at him, her face practically lighting up. It was like she could taste his awkwardness and it was turning her on or something. She was just plain fucking cruel. And it was probably why Mickey was friends with her if he was being honest. "Let me guess, you ran away from them as fast as you fucking could, didn't you?"

_She'd got it in one!_

"And vowed never to take coke near them ever again, yeah," he said, pushing his tongue into the corner of his mouth and fidgeting a little in his seat because at that moment he made the mistake of glancing towards Ian and he knew that the redhead was thinking of exactly the same thing as him. He could see it on Ian's face.

He was thinking of that shitty high school party Mandy had dragged Ian to and Mickey had just turned up for the free beer. He hated that he could remember what clothes Ian was wearing that night, but that could have been because his ass had looked great in his skinny jeans and his shirt had been fucking stupid, but Mickey didn't know because he didn't really want to think about it too much. Mickey and Ian had done a line of coke before they'd even gone to the party, after they'd fucked in Mickey's room while Mandy was putting on her make-up.

They'd done another line at the party when Mandy was off getting drinks because Mickey hadn't wanted to share it with his sister. He remembered Ian being so hyped up on the stuff that he'd wound up getting into a fight over something to do with his sister Fiona. Mickey hadn't been there and he hadn't particularly cared at the time. Because the bathroom had only been like four feet away, they'd gone in and Mickey had pushed Ian's dislocated finger into place again. That had been the only time they'd held hands and they hadn't even been doing it properly. Their hands just happened to have been touching. And because Ian was fucking stupid and always so damn happy about everything, when Mickey had looked up at him he'd grinned like an idiot and licked blood off the corner of his mouth, drawing Mickey's attention to his lips.

And Mickey had never wanted to kiss someone so much in his entire life. Actually, he'd never wanted to kiss someone before. Not even Ian, not really. And he'd had a horrible feeling Ian had been able to see it in his expression, so Mickey had done the first thing he'd thought of and he'd gotten the fuck out of there.

The next day, they'd skipped over that scene in the bathroom when talking about the party and had fucked in the walk-in freezer like nothing had happened at all. Mickey had pretended he hadn't even remembered, blaming the coke and secretly knowing it had nothing to do with drugs at all. Unless drugs came in the form of a tall, freckled redhead with a shit-eating grin and a well above average sized cock.

Mickey took another large mouthful of beer, his fingers twitching as he practically itched for a cigarette. He was saved from having to pretend he hadn't completely spaced out or wasn't looking uncomfortable at all by his boss coming over.

Mickey's boss was in his late forties and was a rather large, rather short man with a too wide nose and too small mouth, but even Mickey had to admit that he was a nice guy. He had fucking amazing instincts as well, which Mickey hated him for in that moment.

"Good job tonight lad," Keeley said, slapping Mickey on the shoulder and not even blinking an eye at the fact that Tony was still attached to Mickey even though he knew for a fact they weren't dating. They'd assured him of that quite a few times. He didn't like his staff intermingling, but he'd said he'd overlook that rule for them two. It was almost a shame that it wasn't a needed exception.

Mickey saluted him with his drink and then set it down on the bar again.

"You want a drink, Kay?" Tessa said, smiling at him flirtatiously even though he knew for a fact that she'd never go near him sexually in a million years. No doubt she just wanted a raise.

Completely unfazed, Keeley smiled back. "Not tonight dear," he said, "I came to talk to your friend here."

And Mickey was probably the only one who wasn't surprised when they realised that he was looking at Ian. Even Ian himself seemed surprised, but Mickey knew people like Ian didn't just waltz into the cage every day. He'd been waiting for this and he hated himself for knowing the inevitable. It made him feel a little better that he didn't have a fucking clue what Ian's answer would be.

"What for?" Mandy asked, because of course she had ' _Protective of Ian Gallagher'_  tattooed on her forehead. Mickey wondered if she was still a little bit in love with him or if that had stopped now. He didn't particularly want to know, because that had always made him feel guilty for some completely bullshit reason he didn't want to pin down.

Keeley smiled. "Well I've never seen someone last quite so long in the cage against our Mick here," he slapped Mickey's shoulder again and Mickey tried to look anywhere except Ian. The only problem was, he couldn't look away from him either. "So I wondered if you wanted to fight for me?"

Lip blinked rapidly, Mandy and Ian both looked shocked, the girls looked unsurprised and Mickey just wanted someone to come and put him out of his misery.

"But I don't live around here," Ian said stupidly.

Keeley smirked, "That don't matter to me kid, when do you leave?"

"End of the week probably."

"Well you can fight for me any night you're in town," he said, handing Ian a card that had nothing but his name and number printed on it, no fancy shit, just the basics. "I work on a pay by fight basis, you get in the cage you earn some cash, you walk out of it a winner and you earn even more. Just give me a call if you're interested."

And with another clap on the shoulder for Mickey, he left it at that and walked off. Keeley had never been one for hanging around unnecessarily. It was probably why Mickey didn't hate him if he was being honest.

Mickey knew the next conversation was about whether or not Ian was going to fight, but Mickey didn't listen because he didn't want to have time to think about Ian's decision. If he didn't know it, he couldn't worry about it. And he could certainly trick himself into believing that there was no chance in fucking hell that Ian was going to be sticking around.

Personally, he was more than a little bit glad that the conversation had shifted off of him.

He didn't look at Ian. Didn't look at anyone. Because he didn't want to be asked questions, he just wanted to die inside quietly, because he wasn't prepared for any of this. His past was supposed to stay in the past, where it belonged and he hadn't ever really planned for all of Chicago and most important Ian Gallagher to turn up and fuck up his mindset.

The first person he looked in the eye, was the one sitting on his doorstep with a suitcase. The person who stood up and grinned at them like he fucking belonged. Mickey hated him on principle without even knowing who he was just because he was in a bad mood. And when he did know who he was. Mickey hated him even more. For reasons he really didn't want to think about.


	17. Chapter 17

"Who the fuck are you?" Mickey asked bluntly, crossing his arms over his chest and narrowing his eyes. He didn't have the patience for this and he definitely wasn't drunk enough.

"Um, I'm Cole," the guy said, like Mickey should instantly know who the fuck he was just from that little sentence. He was taller than Mickey was – but then that wasn't difficult – and looked like he worked out, but he didn't have a fuckload of muscle or anything. His hair was short enough to be army regulation and a horrible blonde colour that looked like someone had taken a piss in sand. Mickey knew just by looking at him though that he was too much of a fucking pussy to be in the army.

He also knew that he had never seen this guy before, ever.

Mickey could feel a muscle in his jaw jumping around. "Good for you," he said sarcastically, "And why the fuck are you outside my apartment Cole?"

The idiot stared at him for a minute and then motioned over Mickey's shoulder. "I'm um, Ian's boyfriend," he said, looking a little annoyed that that wasn't common knowledge.

Mickey had never hated another human being quite so much for no reason at all as he did Cole in that moment. And following his sudden trend of not doing anything rational, he span around and slammed his hands into Ian's chest, because he knew the redhead had been standing close behind him. He could  _feel_  his body heat hitting his back and it was so fucking retarded the effect it had on Mickey.

"Gallagher, this is not a fucking hotel," he growled out through his teeth, his fists clenching and unclenching as Ian stared down at him. He looked confused and worried and it wasn't the reaction that Mickey would have expected from him seeing his boyfriend in New York in any way. It was confusing and Mickey didn't understand it, but he didn't particularly want to so he stamped those thoughts right down into the pit of his stomach. Which was already churning, so the extra weight those thoughts brought he didn't even feel.

"I didn't know he was coming," Ian said, his voice low and there was an emotion in his eyes that Mickey couldn't name. But then Mickey had never been good with words.

"It was a surprise," Cole said, stepping forwards and next to Ian, touching the side of his face and leaning in for a kiss. Mickey wondered if he imagined the way Ian flinched. He thought he might of because at that moment he was concentrating really hard on not throwing up.

He pushed past the two of them, making sure to hit Ian's boyfriend with his shoulder on his way past. "What the hell is his problem?"

Mickey didn't even bother turning around to answer the guy, because he knew chances were he'd only punch him. It would have looked like something he didn't want it to seem if he'd done that. Gallagher would have thought it meant something, because the redhead was stupidly predictable like that.

"Kissing creeps him out," Mandy said, laughing like it was the best joke she'd ever heard. Knowing his sister, it probably was actually. Mickey thought that was pathetic, but he didn't say anything, just headed into his apartment, kicked his shoes off and wished he could just go into his room and slam the door. Except he couldn't, because he wasn't even the one staying in there anymore. So he went for the next best option and only went in there to get himself a joint he knew he had stashed in his other jeans.

Lip snagged it out of his fingers when the older Gallagher boy dropped down onto the couch next to him. Ian was with his boyfriend in Katy's room, Mickey knew because he'd vaguely listened to the conversation from his roommate about how it wasn't like Ian was sharing a bed with anyone anyway, so it wouldn't be too much trouble.

"The boyfriend's a twat," Lip said bluntly, blowing smoke out through his nostrils and smiling sort of stupidly despite the comment not warranting one, "Don't worry, it's popular opinion."

Mandy smacked him on the arm, but Mickey noticed she didn't disagree. "He's just a little possessive," she said, shrugging as she laid her head on her husband's shoulder and curled into him. Mickey couldn't look, because he'd never had that sort of relationship with anyone before. He'd never wanted one, but sometimes that stupidily sappy part of his brain wondered if he'd missed out somewhere along the line when he watched scenes like that.

"They're only here till the end of the week," Tessa reminded him, sitting down and putting her feet in his lap, her smile no doubt supposed to be encouraging. It wasn't really.

"Whatever," Mickey muttered, feeling bad for only about half a second that Mandy was the only one who didn't have a clue why Mickey was in such a bad mood. But as far as he was concerned, it'd only earn him a probable punch to the face if he told her he'd used to fuck her boyfriend – fake boyfriend – so he was planning on keeping his mouth shut. Hopefully forever.

That and there was still that problem of his sister being smarter than people thought she was.


	18. Chapter 18

If Ian had known that Cole would follow him to New York he probably wouldn't have gone himself, because it felt like he was taking his past and screwing up the memories with what the present now was. He knew it was stupid, but in some fucked up way he felt like he wanted to protect the part of him that had been Mickey's from the part of him that was Cole's. And it was stupid because anything of Mickey's had never needed protecting and Mickey didn't even want it anyway.

Except the look on his face when he'd realised who Cole was seemed to be burned into the back of Ian's eyelids. And it wasn't that Mickey had had any expression at all on his face, it was that it was so completely blank. Ian knew Mickey, knew him better than most people ever could; and the one thing he did know was that when Mickey's face went that blank, it was because he had something he wanted to hide.

If he thought about it though, he should have known that Cole would follow him to New York, because that was what Cole did. It had used to be sweet, the fact that his boyfriend couldn't seem to get enough of him, because he'd never had that before. But now it just bordered on creepily possessive.

But considering Ian had had worse in the past than just a little possessive, he didn't complain. Besides, possessive was better than completely uncaring.

Ian didn't know why when they went to sleep that night he curled up on his side facing away from Cole. Normally he slept sprawled, resting lightly against the person he was in bed with, because he felt the need to be held while he slept, but he couldn't bring himself to cling to the person he lay with like he had used to. There had only been a handful of times when he'd fallen asleep next to Mickey and it had only been for half an hour at best. But he couldn't ever seem to shake the memory of the last time, when Mickey let Ian curl up against him, fingers clutching at flesh and Ian's face buried in the side of Mickey's neck. Their legs had been tangled together and Ian could hear Mickey's breath rattling through his throat, feel his heartbeat under his palm. But the main thing was, that Mickey hadn't shrugged him off. He hadn't necessarily contributed to the embrace with anything other than his snores, but it was the fact that Mickey had let them stay like that that had meant everything.

And Ian felt stupid for having refused to recreate that scene with anyone ever again. He couldn't even explain why.

"No," he said, his voice slightly raspy from sleep he hadn't yet reached. Cole pressed up against his back, his hand dropping down and his fingers dipping below the waistband of Ian's boxers. He hadn't been able to bring himself to wear Mickey's pyjama bottoms, not in the same bed as Cole. It would have been creepy.

"Why not?" Cole shifted his hips, his obvious erection pushing up against Ian's ass.

It was a good thing that Cole was a bottom, because he wasn't the biggest that Ian had been with by far. He didn't know where that bitter thought had come from.

"Because this isn't my bed and it'd be rude," Ian replied, grinding his teeth together and hearing his jaw click.

Cole huffed out a sigh, but thankfully didn't argue.

Beside him, his boyfriend – he had to keep reminding himself of that fact – slept silently, just like always and Ian didn't know whether or not to be grateful for that. Because over the sounds of Cole's breathing, he could hear Mickey's snore rattling out of the ex-con's chest in the other room. His brain wanted to stop listening, but his heart wanted it to be the only thing he ever heard.

In the morning he left Cole in bed, padding out of Katy's room in search of food in nothing but his boxers. He seriously doubted anyone would care, because from what he'd seen the last few days, the girls weren't big on boundaries anyway and they certainly weren't prudes, Lip was his brother, Mandy would just enjoy it and Mickey had seen a lot more than Ian in his boxers anyway.

"Okay, in answer to Mandy's question last night," Tessa said, looking over her coffee cup at him. She was the first one to spot him as far as he could tell. "Ian is definitely hot."

He could feel himself blushing, especially when everyone turned around, but he just forced himself to roll his eyes casually. "You're not so bad yourself," he said, swiping a piece of Mandy's toast and wincing when she punched him. He refused to look at Mickey because he knew the ex-con wasn't going to be looking at him.

"Deciding to switch teams are we?" Tony asked, dressed in one of Mickey's shirts by the looks of it. She smiled as she handed him his own plate of breakfast. He leant there against the counter because all of the seats at the table were already occupied.

"Not a chance," he said, laughing, "But I do have eyes in my head."

Even he could admit that Tessa was one of the most beautiful girls that he'd ever seen. It was just an objective view. The girl in question blew him a kiss, he just bit into his toast and cast a subtle glance at Mickey. He was dressed in jeans and a relatively clean tank top, his hear mussed up from sleep and the stubble on his jaw looking especially dark against his pale skin.

"You need to stop smoking," Mandy said randomly when the room lapsed into semi-silence. She was staring at Mickey, who'd been looking down into his coffee mug like it held all the answers in the world, but like it had also offended him in some great way.

"Fuck off," he snapped, the confusion as to why the fuck they were having this conversation obvious in his eyes, "I do not."

Mandy rolled her eyes. "You really do," she retorted, "You're fucking snoring's gotten worse and it always used to be damn loud anyway!"

"I like it," Ian blurted out before he could stop himself and he could feel the blush creeping across his cheeks when even Mickey whipped his head around to stare at him. "Well, I mean I like it because otherwise it'd be too silent," he explained quickly, even though it was actually complete bullshit and he had no logical reason for liking the sound of Mickey snoring, "And after growing up in a house like ours, I can't sleep without noise."

And that was partly true.

He looked at Lip almost desperately, relieved when his brother nodded. "He does have a point," he said, dragging his fingers through his curly hair, "Our house always used to be mayhem, it's weird sitting in silence now."

Ian could safely say that he'd never loved his brother quite so much ever before.

"So what are you all planning on doing today?" Katy asked, propping her feet up on Tessa's lap, which made the other girl pull a face, but she didn't push them off.

Ian only noticed then that Tessa was wearing glasses, he thought for some reason she looked more beautiful than before. He didn't know how that made sense.

"Well I thought we could go see some sights or something," Cole said, choosing that moment to walk out of the bedroom. Ian hoped nobody noticed the way he flinched ever so slightly and even more than that, he hoped that his unease didn't show on his face. Although to say that he was uneasy with the situation would have been a complete understatement.

He didn't dare look at Mickey because he didn't know what would have been shown on his face and he also didn't want to give Cole any inclination of. . .  _anything_.

"Sounds like a plan," he said eventually, even though he didn't particularly want to. He knew that was what they'd wind up doing anyway though, whether or not he argued. So he just went with it, saved his breath.

Cole was a lot of things, but considerate wasn't really one of them. Or maybe it wasn't that he was inconsiderate and more that he was oblivious. He couldn't read Ian's facial expressions or his tone very well and so they just wound up doing exactly what Cole wanted to do. And Ian was ashamed to admit that he went with that for no reason other than he didn't want to be on his own.

To his surprise it was Mickey that commented first. He snorted, he sound weirdly loud in the silence, like everyone else had been holding their breath. And maybe they had been, Ian didn't know why though. "Sightseeing?" he scoffed, his voice low and Ian tried not to focus on it too much because he was only wearing boxers and any physical reaction to Mickey would have been painfully obvious. In the end he had to cross his arms over his chest and pinch himself, hard. "Could you get any more fucking gay?"

" _Jesus Christ, you want to spread a blanket out and look for shooting stars next?"_

Ian hated that he remembered shit Mickey had said from long enough ago that the man himself should have just been a blip in Ian's memory.

"Mickey, you  _are_  gay," Mandy pointed out helpfully, "Or did you forget that?"

Mickey had stopped reacting now at comments like that and Ian thought maybe the only reason Mandy even said them was because she was trying to force herself to adjust, trying to solidify the idea of her brother being gay in her brain. He wondered how long it would take.

The ex-con rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'm aware of that," he muttered, his voice low and with an edge to it that Ian didn't understand, "But that doesn't mean I have to be fucking queer." He rubbed at his bottom lip with a finger, his eyes flickering towards Ian and then away quickly when he realised that the redhead was watching him. "Besides, Ian'll be fucking bored within five minutes anyway."

Mandy smirked, "Of course, because you're the expert on all things Ian now."

"Fuck off," Mickey said quickly, "You know what I mean."

Which no, they didn't actually. Or at least Ian certainly didn't. But he no longer had the courage to press Mickey for answers to questions that the ex-con would hate to answer. He wasn't afraid of Mickey, not like everyone else was, but at the same time he was terrified of the guy. He couldn't explain it.

The bathroom door shut behind Mickey with a weird sense of finality and Ian couldn't help but feel disappointed. Because a stupid part of him had wanted Mickey to react. He'd wanted  _something_  to happen when Mickey and Cole were in the same room. And yet Mickey had stayed completely neutral, like nothing had even happened between him and Ian. Like he didn't care at all. And Ian would have thought that it hadn't, that Mickey honestly believed that nothing had if it hadn't been for the other day.

It was the scene at the bar, with Mandy questioning her brother about his aversion to kissing. It was that moment when they'd talked about the one time Mickey had  _wanted_  to kiss someone and Mickey's eyes had gotten that vulnerable sheen to them that was exactly the same as the look he'd had in the bathroom of that shitty high school party all that time ago. It almost felt like a lifetime ago, like it maybe hadn't even happened, because they'd pretended that it hadn't. But he'd known somehow, he'd just  _known_  from the look on Mickey's face that he was remembering that moment too. And that stupidly gave Ian hope, that maybe it hadn't been a complete sham, that maybe Ian had been something more than a warm mouth.

He didn't know why it mattered anymore, but it did. It meant everything to him to know that his first love hadn't been completely misplaced. Because everyone always said you never forgot your first love and you never completely got over them either and Ian knew that as stupid and as fucking suicidal as it had been, he'd loved Mickey with everything that he had. It killed him to think he'd given everything to someone that hadn't ever wanted it.

He  _needed_  Mickey to have wanted it so badly it hurt. And he couldn't completely explain why. Maybe it was something to do with pride, maybe it was just an old wound that had never quite healed over properly. Or maybe it was just something to do with Mickey, just Mickey.

He didn't know.

And he couldn't stop thinking about that, even hours later and wandering around the streets of New York with the man he called his boyfriend, the man who wanted to call him that back. He couldn't make himself stop, he didn't want to make himself. Stupidly, he wanted to cling to that memory of how it had felt to love Mickey, because he'd never felt anything like that before. It had been desperate and painful, fast-paced and so completely brutal. It had always been rough and raw and it had been something that was dug so deep inside of Ian that he'd never known how he could possibly dig it out. He still hadn't found a way. And yet, it had been about more than that, at least for Ian. It had been about more than the quick, hard fucks in the back of the store.

In the end it had all been about the little moments that Ian had snatched away from time itself. It had been that moment in the bathroom with Mickey snapping his finger back into place and his wide blue eyes looking like he wanted to ask for the world, but didn't know how to find the words. It had been the skim of Mickey's knuckles down his side when the ex-con had thought he was sleeping. It had been the way Mickey would glance at him sometimes, through his long lashes looking so completely lost Ian would have given anything to find him a map. It was the moment when he'd run to Mickey when Monica had come back and Mickey hadn't pushed him away. It was when Ian had visited him in Juvie and Mickey had looked so grateful, so scared and so completely confused that the worlds coming out of his mouth had to be harsh.

And it was about that day, it was about when it had all come crashing down. The fear in Mickey's eyes, the anger that hadn't quite managed to hide the desperation in his eyes completely as he'd spat out hateful words fashioned to maim and to scar. Mickey had always been good at cutting people on conversation, but Ian always wondered who he'd cut deepest that day. Ian or himself?

Ian had to screw his eyes shut for a moment, trying to block out the thoughts in his head, the memories, but he wished he hadn't done so a few seconds later. In hindsight, New York probably wasn't the best place to be walking around with his eyes closed, but Ian had already decided that fate was against him or something because everything seemed to be falling apart around him at the moment.

"Hey, it's you."

The guy caught Ian's arm and he blinked into the face of the guy who had been stalking Mickey. He couldn't remember his name, he supposed it didn't matter. "You're the guy who's with Mickey," he said, his voice pained, "That was you, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," Ian said without thinking, because after the thoughts that had been rattling around his head it was first instinct.

"How is he?" the guy asked, looking genuinely concerned, which made Ian feel sick, "Is he okay?"

Ian stared at the man for a minute, not really seeing what the hell Mickey had seen in him. Or maybe it had been more about just finding someone willing. He didn't really want to think about it. "He's perfect," Ian said, his tone cold and almost dangerous, one Mickey would have been proud of, "I won't tell him you asked after him though, it'd only piss him off."

The guy looked a little put out, but Ian didn't care. "Well just look after him," he said, acting like he and Mickey had been so much more than just a one night stand, "He's a good guy and you two do actually make a nice couple."

And with that he left and Ian caught himself glaring at the guy's retreating figure. When he looked away, he met Cole's gaze and the first thing that he thought, the only thing he was really thinking for the entire walk back to the apartment was:  _oh shit_.

"I can explain," he said the moment they got into the apartment, using the key that Katy had given him. He followed Cole into the bedroom they were using, hating the fact that it felt like a death march. "I was only helping him out, we didn't even do anything, all I did was stood with him when he answered the door." He shut the door behind him, but for some reason wished he hadn't done. "Mickey and I go way back, we worked together when we were teenagers and I owed him," he said, trying to explain quickly because he could see Cole was just seconds away from exploding, "That guy was basically his stalker, so all I did was pretend Mickey and I were together by standing next to him at the door to get him to leave Mickey alone."

"Did you kiss him?" Cole asked and Ian hated how dead his voice sounded, how completely detached.

He took a deep breath. "Mickey doesn't kiss," he said, which was probably a bad choice or words something made obvious when a hand connected with his cheek so hard that he tripped backwards over his own feet, landing in a sprawl against the wall.

"You're mine," he growled out through his teeth, his eyes burning with an anger that Ian thought was completely misplaced, "We wouldn't have to have this sort of problem if you just fucking remembered that."

And Ian wanted to argue that. He wanted to kick and scream and yell, to fight back and to say that he didn't belong to Cole. That he never had and probably never would. He wanted to be stronger than Cole thought he was, he wanted to be as strong as the person in his memories. But he couldn't remember how to be that person anymore, so he just touched the side of his face gingerly and stayed there on the floor, staring up at the man who was supposed to be his boyfriend with wide eyes.

He couldn't stop himself from thinking that even though Mickey had never confessed to being his boyfriend, Mickey had never deliberately hit him. He'd lashed out, they'd fought, but it had always been provoked, it had always been something Ian could handle. It hadn't been a back-handed hit across the face, it had been a punch to the jaw or a slam into the wall. That was a different sort of violence, because it had always been an expression of what everything between them had ever been about. It hadn't been about being dominant, about punishing each other. Mickey had never hit him to punish him and he'd never hit him when he knew that Ian wouldn't hit him back.

With Mickey, what they had had, it had been built up from the very foundations to be based on pain. It had started with a fight, physical and rough, fists and knuckles hitting tender spots on the outside and it had ended in another fight, one that had pressed against tender spots inside of Ian so hard that he felt like his entire body was shattering. But from the get go, that had been their intimacy. It had always been about digging fingers into hips so hard that there were bruises in the morning and teeth in the shoulder to keep from crying out, but also to mark the other in a completely primal way. That had been who they were, that had been expected.

But with Cole, it had started with kindness and gentle actions and anger was always so misplaced that Ian recoiled in on himself because he didn't know how to deal with that. He didn't know how to respond to something so out of place.

He thought that the worst part was though, that this hadn't even been the first time.


	19. Chapter 19

When they saw Ian that evening, he had a fresh bruise marking the side of his face. He played it off with a laugh and an explanation that someone had knocked him into a wall when they'd been walking through the streets of New York. Mickey said nothing, because Mickey knew the difference between an accidental bruise and a deliberate one. He'd grown up in the Milkovich house, had grown up being his dad's personal punching bag. He knew what bruises looked like when they came from being hit, he knew the difference.

And Ian had been hit. He was guessing back-handed, because a punch would have created a darker bruise. He didn't know who'd hit him, but Ian's willingness to attempt to lie about it told him all he needed to know. Mickey wasn't a smart guy, but he was smart about some things.

Unfortunately, one thing he knew better than anything was about violence. He knew how to receive it and how to dish it out. And he also knew how much his mother had hated anyone bringing up the fact that Terry had used to bat her around a bit.

So Mickey said nothing. He just silently let the hate towards Ian's boyfriend bubble up inside him. He let it threaten to choke the life out of him, because Mickey couldn't think of a single thing he could do to stop it.

Early in the morning – Mickey didn't check the clock, but he was guessing it was about three a.m. – Ian tried to sneak out of the apartment. Something that would have been easier if his shoes hadn't squeaked and Mickey hadn't been asleep on the couch. He'd known the moment Ian had stepped out of his bedroom, but had pretended to still be asleep, even when he could feel Ian watching him for a minute.

When Ian left the apartment, Mickey didn't know what made him shove his arms into his coat, his feet into his shoes and follow. Because chances were he wouldn't be welcome and it was definitely an out of character move. But he still went anyway. He didn't know how to stop himself. And as far as his reasoning went, he was awake anyway, so it wasn't like it mattered.

He found Ian sitting on a bench on the other side of the road to the apartment block, leant forwards with his elbows on his thighs and staring at the cracks in the pavement. Mickey didn't say anything as he sat down next to him and he knew Ian hadn't noticed he was there, because Ian wasn't good at being discreet or at pretending. At least not with Mickey.

Silently, Mickey lit up a cigarette from the packet he found in his coat pocket and he held it out to Ian after only taking one drag. His wrist touched Ian's knee just barely, but it sent an electric shock through Mickey's entire body. Ian jumped out of his skin.

He looked across at Mickey with wide, terrified eyes and Mickey didn't miss the way that he relaxed the moment he realised who it was. Nobody else had ever relaxed that quickly with Mickey. Ian offered him a weak smile that had Mickey wanting to touch the bruise on his face, to try and wipe it away and without a word Ian took the cigarette from him.

Mickey withdrew his hand, trapping the one closest to Ian under his thigh after lighting up another cigarette. They sat like that for a while, just silently blowing smoke up into the air, listening to the sounds of traffic and car alarms, to the couple that were having an argument not far away from them. They could hear every word that the couple were saying, but Mickey didn't bother to listen to the words. He pulled a face when their argument turned into a kiss and out of the corner of his eye caught Ian smiling.

"Your sense of humour is fucked up," he commented, scratching his thigh where the old, faded scar was. He felt like it had been a lifetime ago that he'd been shot by Kash for stealing a fucking Snickers bar. Except it had never been about the chocolate, it had always been about Ian. Just like everything since then had always been about Ian. It was fucking stupid.

Mickey spat on the floor.

"Yeah," Ian muttered back, flicking away the end of his cigarette. They both watched where it landed, joining a collection of others on the pavement.

Without another word, Mickey held out the packet to him, because he knew how boys from the Southside coped with shit like this. And that was why smoking and drinking away their problems. Years ago they would have fucked to solve it all, to forget, but now Mickey just wished he had a joint.

Even if Mickey had been a talker, he wouldn't have known what words to say in a situation like this. It said a lot that Ian didn't either.

Instead of taking a cigarette from the pack, Ian reached out and his fingers touched the barely visible scars on Mickey's wrist. The lines that had once been jagged and crude. They were barely noticeable now, but when Ian touched them, he made them feel like the most obvious thing in the world. But what Mickey hated more was that the pain was written all over Ian's face and Mickey didn't know if it was pain for his own situation, or if it was pain directed towards what Mickey had done. He didn't think he wanted to know.

Without looking at him, Ian took his fingers away and pulled a cigarette out of the packet and mechanically Mickey did the same. He held out the lighter for Ian, but didn't hand it over. He just watched the flame flicker and wasn't at all surprised when Ian trapped the cigarette between his lips and covered Mickey's hand with his to steady it. He leant forwards and Mickey could feel Ian's breath on his knuckles. All too soon Ian leant back and his touch withdrew.

Mickey felt like his skin was on fire. He felt like he was going mad.

And he didn't care one bit.

He lit his own cigarette and tipped his head back, blowing smoke up towards the sky and almost wishing that there would have been stars in the sky. There weren't.

" _Jesus Christ, you want to spread a blanket out and look for shooting stars next?"_

Back then, Mickey had almost wished that Ian had said yes. He never would have imagined then that he'd be sitting next to Ian Gallagher on a bench in New York. When he looked away from the sky, Ian was looking at him and he wondered if the redhead was thinking the same thing. Mickey thought he was. Mickey hoped he was. He didn't know why.

Ian's eyes seemed to shine in the shitty yellow light coming from the streetlight not far away from them. Sitting there, Mickey could almost imagine that they were hidden away from the world, because nobody was looking at them. Nobody cared at all. They were just two people sitting on a bench, not touching, not even talking, but they were looking at each other in a way that spoke more than words ever could. Mickey knew that.

So slowly that it was almost like the scene was running frame by frame before his eyes, Mickey moved. He pretended they were frozen in time, trapped in their own little world. Because Mickey was good at pretending. He switched his cigarette into the other hand and placed the now free one on the bench beside him, close enough to where Ian's lay that their little fingers were almost touching.

Ian looked down in surprise, staring at their hands for a long minute and then he looked back up. And Mickey could see him calculating whether or not it was safe to move his hand. He could  _feel_  the redhead's thoughts as though they were his own. He could practically taste them.

Neither of them moved for a long time, just sat there frozen, the only movement the mechanical smoking of their cigarettes. Mickey didn't know if it was seconds, minutes or maybe days before Ian's fingers slid over his. He supposed it couldn't have been that long, because neither of them had finished their cigarettes, but Ian's fingers slotted into the gaps between Mickey's, curling under and gripping tight. Ian's fingers were ice cold. When he looked down, Mickey saw Ian's hand, his long fingers, the skin looking just as pale as Mickey's, but more delicate. And in between Ian's fingers were Mickey's, his nails dirty and chewed right down, the tattoos marring his knuckles and above them, dark smudge-like bruises from fighting.

A part of Mickey told him to pull his hand away, because it was wrong to be doing that. It was stupid and unnecessary and  _weak_  to be holding hands with anybody. He'd never held anyone's hand other than his mother's, he'd never wanted to. Although, actually, that was a lie. Because Ian had used to grab cover Mickey's hands with his when they'd fucked, to hold on. That hadn't been willing though, that hadn't been as deliberate as this move was. That wasn't the same.

At the same time as he thought it was strange, he didn't move because it looked and felt weirdly natural. It didn't look scary or gross or anything of the sort. It just looked like too people holding hands.

Someone walked past them, a man, he didn't even look their way.

Ian stared at him when he looked up from their hands, expecting rejection, expecting Mickey to pull away because that was what Mickey always did. And Mickey hated that look. He hated that Ian looked so wounded, but more than that, it was like he'd already accepted the pain before it even came. What he liked was the look of surprise and then tender happiness when Mickey gripped Ian's fingers back, the wood of the bench rough underneath his knuckles.

He looked away, sucking on the last of his cigarette, because he didn't know how to respond to Ian looking at him like that. Especially not because he knew that this, just like every other accidental, tender moment between them, whether intentional or not, it would be forgotten by the time that the sun rose. It wouldn't be mentioned, it wouldn't be brought up again.

But it would still be thought of. And things still would have felt like they'd changed. Because they had changed. Mickey just couldn't explain how; or even whether or not it was a good thing. He just knew it scared him, but that the feeling of Ian's fingers gripping his tugged him back down to earth. Kept him grounded.


	20. Chapter 20

Something had changed. Ian didn't know what and he didn't particularly want to. But something definitely had.

Mickey didn't look at him once the next morning and yet at the same time, it felt like he was the only thing that Mickey was watching. They'd sat on that bench, fingers locked together for a long time. Ian would have been content to stay there together, unspeaking and unmoving in their own little bubble, but the daylight and Mickey's rumbling stomach brought the real world crashing back. They hadn't said anything to each other, but it had been a comfortable sort of silence just like when they were younger. They didn't have to talk because the silence seemed to say it all.

Sitting opposite Mickey at the table, the scene looked weirdly domestic, just the two of them drinking coffee and eating a hastily made cooked breakfast. They still didn't say anything, but Mickey did kick him under the table for grinning like such an idiot, so he reigned it in. Normally, he wouldn't have. But he didn't want to ruin whatever fragile truce they'd come to and smiling in front of Cole would have been a bad idea.

The others came out and dropped down into chairs or leant against the counter and it became a mess of activity that reminded Ian of home. It was a sort of controlled chaos that was familiar to him and he had to stop himself from smiling. Something that wasn't difficult when Cole dropped down in the chair next to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Ever single muscle in Ian's body automatically tensed up and he let his eyes flick towards Mickey, seeking some sort of comfort that he knew the ex-con would probably never willingly give.

Because he was looking at Mickey, he didn't miss the way that Mickey's fists clenched and even though he was looking down at his food, he looked more angry than Ian had ever seen him. And that was when he knew that Mickey knew. Mickey knew what Cole had done, it was obvious in the set of his jaw. Ian could safely say he'd never been more grateful to Mickey. Because during intense and emotional situations, Mickey normally hightailed, so his willingness to follow Ian out to the bench meant a lot. And he hadn't even said a word, Ian was glad he hadn't said a word because he didn't want to have to talk about it, to face it.

Under the table, Mickey's toe brushed against the inside of Ian's ankle and then stayed there. Ian knew it was stupid, to get comfort from the simple touch of Mickey's foot against his leg, but he did. And he'd never been more grateful. Especially not given how he could feel the tension literally sliding out of his muscles. He put that down to the fact that he knew that move had been deliberate and he could taste the change on the back of his tongue again.

"So I was thinking I might fight in the cage tonight," Ian said when there was a lapse in conversation.

Everybody stared at him, but Mickey was the only one who didn't look at all worried. Cole looked like he thought Ian had suddenly grown two heads or something. Ian chewed the inside of his mouth and waited for someone to say something. Mickey just slurped his coffee loudly, which earned him a slap around the back of the head from Tessa.

"You sure you want to do that?" Lip asked, staring at his brother over his coffee cup.

"Well it was kind of fun last time," Ian replied, chewing his bottom lip for a second and looking at Mickey out of the corner of his eye, "Is that fucked up?"

Mickey snorted, his knife clattering down onto his plate. "Fuck off, that's my job you're talking about," he said, but he didn't really sound all that offended. Probably because he knew that it hadn't been an insult. It would have been weird if he hadn't commented though.

"You don't count," Ian said a little too quickly, "You never have." And he knew he didn't imagine the way that Mickey's face fell slightly, so he hurried to correct himself, "Well, I mean when it comes to fighting, because you're a fucking Milkovich, so it's kind of a given that you're gonna fight."

Mickey rolled his eyes at Ian trying to smooth over the situation.

"Can you even fight?" Cole asked, ruining whatever moment that Ian and Mickey had been having when their eyes met.

Ian tried not to let the annoyance show on his face. He kept having to keep reminding himself that it wasn't a good thing that his boyfriend annoyed him. He opened his mouth, but the words that were said next weren't in his voice.

"Of course he fucking is, he comes from the Southside and he used to do fucking ninja shit in baby army," Mickey growled out through a mouthful of eggs, the effect no less threatening though. Even if it was just a little bit disgusting. "He lasted against me, could probably fucking beat me if he actually tried."

"You saying I didn't try last time?" Ian blurted out, his eyebrows flying up.

Mickey snorted and then shrugged. "You were too angry, it doesn't count," he said, chewing the side of his thumb and then rubbing at his bottom lip in that way that made Ian smile for no logical reason at all, "You get sloppy when you're angry." And Ian just knew he was talking about Ian specifically, not people in general.

Mickey hadn't seen Ian angry often, not a lot of people had, but he'd definitely seen it. And Ian would admit that he did get a little bit sloppy when he was angry. He was always more concerned about hurting the other person than he was about protecting his own flank.

"I'll believe it when I see it," Cole muttered, not knowing that he'd just firmed up Ian's decision for him.

Mickey leant over casually in the middle of the conversation and used the last of his toast to wipe up the remnants of egg yolk that were still on Ian's plate. He leant back in his seat and stuffed the piece of toast into his mouth and he didn't smile, he didn't even look at Ian, but still, for Mickey, that had been an affectionate gesture. Ian smiled for the both of them and hoped nobody noticed the emotion behind that expression. Lip probably did even if nobody else saw.

"Fine then," Ian replied and that was why that night he walked into the cage next to Mickey. The boss, Keeley, had been pleased when Ian had said he was going to fight and actually Ian had almost expected him to be thrown in the ring against Mickey. Except the boss seemed to be psychic or something and had hired two kick boxers to fight for the night, so when Ian walked into the cage, he walked in with Mickey standing by his side.

Nothing had ever felt quite so right – except on the bench the other night – and Ian thought that summed his life up. Nothing was right unless there was Mickey. There was just the problem of how long he could keep Mickey around for, because that had always been an unanswerable question.


	21. Chapter 21

Mickey walked into the cage beside Ian and he didn't know why, but he already knew that this was probably going to be his best fight of all time. It would have been nerve wracking if he didn't have faith in Ian. Unlike the redhead's douche of a boyfriend – who Mickey was planning on kicking the ass of at some point, he'd already decided – Mickey believed in Ian more than Mickey believed in himself. He thought that was sort of pathetic, but it wasn't something he was ever going to share so it didn't matter that much.

"Ready?" Ian asked, looking stupidly fuckable in nothing but a pair of slacks. He was still pale and Mickey couldn't help but want to smile at the sight of the silver scar on Ian's shoulder, exactly the shape of Mickey's teeth. He remembered giving that to Ian, they'd been fucking in Mickey's room, Mandy just next door and his Dad in jail. They'd fucked face to face and it had been so amazing Mickey had had to bite down into Ian's flesh to stop himself from making too much noise. Ian had gotten his own back the next week though, biting Mickey in return while he fucked him in the walk-in freezer in the back of the store. Mickey had a scar from that too. It had probably been the best orgasm of his life, which was worrying.

Mickey walked into the cage beside Ian and he didn't know why, but he already knew that this was probably going to be his best fight of all time. It would have been nerve wracking if he didn't have faith in Ian. Unlike the redhead's douche of a boyfriend – who Mickey was planning on kicking the ass of at some point, he'd already decided – Mickey believed in Ian more than Mickey believed in himself. He thought that was sort of pathetic, but it wasn't something he was ever going to share so it didn't matter that much.

"Ready?" Ian asked, looking stupidly fuckable in nothing but a pair of slacks. He was still pale and Mickey couldn't help but want to smile at the sight of the silver scar on Ian's shoulder, exactly the shape of Mickey's teeth. He remembered giving that to Ian, they'd been fucking in Mickey's room, Mandy just next door and his Dad in jail. They'd fucked face to face and it had been so amazing Mickey had had to bite down into Ian's flesh to stop himself from making too much noise. Ian had gotten his own back the next week though, biting Mickey down while he fucked him in the walk-in freezer in the back of the store. Mickey had a scar from that too. It had probably been the best orgasm of his life and that was worrying.

"Fuck off," Mickey replied, rolling his eyes and distinctly not smiling so much that he might as well have been. He cracked his knuckles and looked at the douches who walked into the cage and stood opposite them. "Just pretend we're in the fucking Southside," Mickey said, bumping Ian with his shoulder in a gesture that was completely affectionate.

Mickey was getting fucking soppy. He blamed old age. Even though he wasn't old at all. He just needed something to blame.

When the bell rang to signal the start of the fight, Ian and Mickey both moved off of instinct. Anybody who taught you how to fight would say never to make the first move, but that wasn't how it worked in the Southside of Chicago. Back where they'd grown up, if you didn't move first, you were screwed.

In this case, when they lunged forwards as soon as the bell rang, they caught the other two men by surprise. Mickey didn't focus on what Mickey was doing, because he knew that he was pulling his ninja shit. Mickey focussed on tackling his guy into the side of the cage, catching the guy hard in the stomach with his shoulder. He took a blow to the side of the head, but he just laughed and rolled, slamming the guy into the floor and pinning him down, landing a few blows. It was too easy. But then knowing how to kick box didn't mean shit if you were flat out on your back on the floor.

The guy Ian was fighting collided with Mickey's back by accident and Mickey rolled, lurching back to his feet and grabbed the guy around the neck before he could land a high kick at Ian. Mickey used the momentum he'd gained and threw the guy across the cage, flashing a grin at Ian, who returned it and it almost felt like old times. It almost felt like that time they'd fought against some complete tools at a party who'd insulted either Mandy or just Milkovich's in general, he couldn't really remember. What he could remember was that even then they had been a fucking awesome team when it came to fighting.

He thought it was probably that he instinctively had Ian's back and he knew the redhead's moves before he even made them. He wondered what that meant. Probably just that he needed to spend time around more people and less around the one guy. He'd solved that problem not long later, but he didn't want to think about that.

Ian took a punch to the face, but he just spat out blood and punched the guy back. Mickey grabbed a leg that was aimed for high up on his chest and if they'd been fighting on the streets he would have broken it, but instead he just span the guy hard enough to lift him off the ground. Without Mickey needing to shout, Ian dropped onto his belly and rolled, the guy flying just over his head and connecting with his partner.

Laughing, Mickey helped Ian to his feet, holding his hand for just a little bit too long, their palms both sweaty and blood was coming from somewhere. He didn't know if it was from Ian's nose or Mickey's knuckles. Maybe both. Probably.

The fight wound down after that, because like all fights it was always fast and adrenaline fuelled and when the adrenaline faded, the fight itself deteriorated because there was only so much energy one person could have. It wasn't even a difficult fight, but Mickey loved having Gallagher by his side. He loved being able to convince himself that maybe for a minute nothing had ever gotten fucked up and it was all perfectly fine. Not that it had ever been fine or anything close to perfect, but it had used to be about as much so as Mickey was ever going to fucking get.

He still wasn't quite sure if he'd given up on Gallagher yet or not. He wasn't sure when he'd even decided he was trying to get anything. He wasn't completely sure what he wanted either. It was just  _something_ , something more than he had ever had.

"Fuck, I've missed fighting," Ian said, sitting back on the platform that raised the cage up slightly, "Not so much of it to do now you skipped town."

Mickey snorted and rolled his eyes. "I had my reasons," he muttered, spitting blood out onto the floor because he was charming like that. His lip had split open again.

"You think my nose is broken?" Ian asked, ignoring what Mickey had just said because the guy had a habit of doing that. This time, Mickey was grateful. He poked at it gingerly and Mickey slapped his hands away.

"I don't think so," he replied honestly, looking at Ian openly for longer than he ever had done before in public. He knew that it was fucked up that he thought that Ian looked hot covered in blood. But the sight of his still-bruised cheekbone still pissed him the fuck off. He wanted to kill something, but he wasn't sure yet if Ian would welcome that and he wasn't really sure how he felt about killing for the guy twice. He knew he would do if push came to shove, but he wasn't an idiot and just because he'd done it once didn't mean he wasn't going to go around and solve every single one of Ian's problems for him by killing the offending person. Besides, Ian was a big boy, he could handle himself.

But Mickey was still going to kick Cole's ass given half a chance and he was going to fucking enjoy it. Especially if he hurt Ian again.

"Ugh," Ian moaned low in his throat, "I'm going to go wash my face, I can feel the blood drying."

Mickey snorted, "Pussy."

The redhead just flipped him off, his arm brushing Mickey's as he pushed away from the platform. Only two seconds later, Mickey moved too, weaving through the crowd even though for the most part it parted for him anyway. He headed up to the bar, planning on numbing the pain in his head with about a half a bottle of vodka. He wondered if it would help the pain in his chest that had just appeared out of nowhere.

"Mickey," Tony caught his arm right as he picked up the shot glass that Tessa pushed towards him wordlessly before moving off to serve some actual paying customers. He turned, offering her a half smile before realising that she wasn't actually on her own. " _This_   _is_   _my_   _cousin_."

Mickey laughed at the sight of her cousin, who paled instantly. He couldn't help it. He thought it was more that he just needed something to laugh about. And this was fucking priceless, because he definitely didn't think it was going to be all that difficult to scare Tony's cousin into keeping his mouth shut. Not at all.

He grinned, thumbing his cut lip, his eyes locked on the guy in front of him, "Hey Lewis."

The doctor paled a little bit more and his voice shook a little when he nodded ever so slightly, "Mickey."


	22. Chapter 22

"So I'm supposed to threaten you to keep your mouth shut," Mickey said when he was standing in the backroom of the club with Lewis. Mickey was still wearing a pretty heavy smirk, but Lewis looked a little less freaked out than he had done before. He was obviously wondering whether or not Mickey was going to kill him.

"I'm not going to say anything," he said, practically fucking blurted, the words coming out too fast, "I haven't told anyone so far, I swear to God; and I'm not  _going_  to tell anyone."

Mickey chuckled low, the sound echoing slightly around the shitty backroom. "I know," he said with complete confidence, "I wasn't actually talking about that."

Lewis looked surprised. "So what the hell am I supposed to keep my mouth shut about?" he asked, rubbing a hand through his greying hair. He looked like the perfect little father and husband, a wedding band shining on his finger and his clothes smart. He looked completely out of place at the bar, which had probably been why Tony had brought him there in the first place.

"You're not going to say a word to Tony's parents about what she does here," he said, "You're not going to upset her or get her into trouble, because that will just piss me off and you know what happens when I get pissed off."

The doctor flinched.

"Yeah and it's not something I want to re-live," he said quietly and Mickey had to sort of admire that the guy wasn't a complete pussy. He did have some balls. "At least I know my cousin's going to be protected here, so that's something."

"Tony can look after herself," Mickey said with complete confidence, but he knew he'd still look after her anyway. If he didn't have that desire, he wouldn't let her hang off of him and pretend to be her fake boyfriend.

The conversation could have ended there, except that Lewis seemed to decide that it was a good idea to become downright fucking  _chatty_. Mickey was sure how he felt about that, because he wanted to make sure that this guy kept his mouth shut, but at the same time he didn't really want to spend that much time around him and he was already pretty fucking sure that Lewis wasn't going to breathe a word of it.

"So was that him?" Lewis asked, his head tilting to the side slightly, "In the cage with you?"

Mickey had actually forgotten that Lewis knew about Gallagher. Although admittedly, saying that he  _knew_  about him was an exaggeration, but Lewis definitely knew that he existed and that Mickey cared. He didn't know why Lewis wanted to know, why he'd just asked that question, but there wasn't much point in denying it.

He shrugged, "Why the fuck would you think that was him?"

Lewis snorted and rolled his eyes. "Lucky guess," he quipped, which had Mickey paranoid because he was wondering if he was making it too obvious. He didn't know what he had to make obvious, except maybe he did. "So that was Gallagher?"

"Yeah," Mickey rubbed at his bottom lip again, "You ain't going near him."

"I have no desire to," Lewis replied with complete seriousness, "Thought I already told you that." He smirked and Mickey didn't like it one bit, because he didn't really like thinking about what had happened. He didn't have a problem with that he'd done, he just didn't like thinking about it.

"Dude, I was fucking out of it last time I spoke to you," Mickey said, pressing his thumb against a cut on one of his knuckles. He could do with cleaning up, but he couldn't be bothered to do it here. He'd just shower when they got back to the apartment.

Lewis laughed, but it sounded almost like he was choking on the noise. It was weird. "Yeah, blood loss and sedatives will do that to you," he said sarcastically and Mickey thought it was strange that this was definitely the longest conversation that he had ever had with the guy. Fucking had never counted, because Lewis hadn't had much desire to talk about the fact he was cheating on his wife and Mickey just wasn't a talking. It had been a get in, get off and get the fuck out sort of deal. Which had suited Mickey just fine.

"Fuck off," Mickey muttered, scratching his wrists at the memory, but apparently Lewis was really on a roll and grabbed a hold of Mickey's hands, turning them over to examine the scars on his wrist.

"They healed up pretty well," he commented, like Mickey actually gave a fuck. He was scarred enough anyway, in ways that people would never see. External scars had never mattered to him, they were just evidence of how fucked up Mickey's life was.

Mickey jerked back quickly, not liking being touched for reasons he couldn't explain. He'd gotten better with the whole physical contact thing, not pushing away anything that wasn't unnecessary, but this just felt like his past was coming back to bite him in the ass. And not even in a good way. Gallagher was a different matter entirely, he always had been.

"You know he doesn't look like he needs you protecting him," Lewis commented, holding his hands up in surrender and not looking at all fazed that Mickey had pulled away, "From what I saw in the cage, he can handle himself."

Mickey shrugged, "Who said I was ever protecting him?"

"Because in jail you said–"

"I don't give a shit what I said," Mickey replied, not really sure why he was even bothering to try and explain himself. It wasn't like it mattered anymore. "I never said I was protecting Gallagher's ass, that guy was a lifer anyway, he wasn't going near Ian, what I did was called revenge." And it was also because he wanted to save Ian from having to testify, but Lewis didn't need to know that.

Lewis just shook his head, looking at Mickey like he was unhinged; and maybe he was. Who the fuck knew anymore?

"Well whatever you're motives were," he said slowly, meeting Mickey's eyes like he was trying to convince Mickey that he was telling the truth, because he was brave enough to do that, "I'm not stupid enough to try and take you on, I know how far you'll go, so I'm going to keep my mouth shut about what happened and I'm not going to say anything to upset Tony."

Mickey grinned, but he knew from the way that Lewis flinched that it wasn't a very nice smile. "Good," he said bluntly and went to follow when Lewis headed back out into the crowd, except a hand caught his elbow and he was slammed against the door hard enough to knock the air out of his lungs.

He knew his eyes were wide and he probably looked fucking stupid, but he didn't fight back because even though that was his instinct, his body automatically knew that it was Ian who was pressed against him.

"What the fuck did you do?" Ian growled at him and if Mickey hadn't been internally panicking, he would have found the octave that Gallagher hit fucking sexy.

He chewed his bottom lip, fidgeting a little and cursing his own stupidity for not realising that Gallagher had done to clean up and of course he would have used the bathroom attached to the backroom. The bathroom that only had one door. Mickey would have hit himself if Gallagher hadn't been pinning him to the wall.

He knew that he had a few options here. He could lie, he could tell the truth or he could just say nothing. Either way he knew that he was going to piss Gallagher off, that whatever they'd recently built up was going to come crashing down again; and Mickey told himself that he didn't care, that that didn't bother him in the slightest.

"It doesn't matter," he said, because he  _couldn't_  tell Ian what he had done. He didn't want the redhead to look at him like he was insane, like he disgusted him. Because that was what would happen and even though Mickey didn't want to admit it, he knew that he couldn't handle that happening. He couldn't handle it if Ian looked at him like he had all those years ago in the Kash and Grab, when Mickey had broken both of their hearts with just a few words.

"Of course it fucking matters," he snarled out, angrier than Mickey had ever seen him before, "What was he talking about? What did you do?"

Mickey didn't know when he'd grabbed a hold of Ian's slim hips, pulling them closer together even though he should have been pushing him away in a situation like this. Ian's hands were fisting Mickey's tank and both of them were still damp with sweat and there was blood on Ian's face, in Mickey's mouth and on the ex-con's knuckles. What Mickey didn't know was why the hell that made the situation downright fucking  _erotic_. He should have been panicking; and he was, but at the same time he wasn't.

He didn't know why.

"It doesn't fucking matter," Mickey growled back, holding on tight to Ian's hips, hard enough to bruise and it felt good because for a moment it was just like it had always been. "It's done," he said, all too aware of how close Ian's face was to his and the bulge growing in the front of his slacks, which he knew that Ian could definitely feel.

It made him feel a little bit better that even though he was angry, even though he was mad at him, Gallagher still couldn't resist rolling his hips forwards and making Mickey all too aware of the other guy's erection. Mickey choked on his own breath and for a second he thought Ian might have smiled.

"It involves me Mickey, I know it does," he said, pressing Mickey harder against the wall, but whether that was to try and be threatening or whether it was to benefit their crotches pressing together, he didn't know. It was like there were two different people in each of their bodies. The people who were eternally horny and attracted to each other, and the people who were trying to think with their upstairs brains.

It was stupid, but Mickey didn't know how to change it and he wasn't sure he wanted to.

"That means I have a right to know."

"No, it really fucking doesn't," Mickey said harshly, "It's fucking  _done_ , Gallagher, so just drop it."

Ian looked like he was about to shout something at Mickey, about to get even more angry, but in the end he bit back those words and pressed his forehead against Mickey's, his voice far too honest when he said, "I just don't want you to end up back in jail again for doing something stupid because of me."

"Not like I haven't gone because of you twice before," he said, but the expression on Ian's face made him regret those words, "And besides, it isn't going to fucking happen, I was careful." He was more than careful, his plan had been fucking flawless. Unless, Lip or Lewis blabbed, there was no way anything was going to happen. And Mickey knew that the chances of that happening were less than slim. He just didn't know how the fuck he was supposed to fix this situation so that Ian would believe him that he didn't have to worry about anything.

"Just trust me," he said, hoping that the softer edge to his voice would pacify the redhead. It didn't really work, because his tone was angry again when they next spoke, his forehead pressing hard against Mickey's.

"And why should I trust you Mickey?" Ian asked, his forehead rubbing against Mickey's, "Give me one good reason."

"Because you just have to," Mickey ground out through his teeth, screwing his eyes shut because he knew that wasn't going to be enough and he didn't want to see Ian's expression. Especially not when he next spoke. "And because I know when your fucking birthday is," he muttered, his voice quiet enough that it almost felt like maybe Ian wouldn't hear him, "And I don't even remember my own fucking birthday half the time." He pressed his hands harder against the sides of Ian's neck, but pulled him in by the action rather than pushing him away like he sort of wanted to. "Because there's something under my bed that I spent the entire of my first pay check at the Kash and Grab for, but bottled out of fucking giving it to you for your birthday."

When he opened his eyes, Ian was staring at him and he looked so fucking beautiful it was stupid and Mickey wanted to close his eyes again, but he couldn't make himself. Because he didn't want to look away. "You just have to trust me," he whispered, " _Please_."

And Mickey didn't think he'd ever said please before in his entire life; which was something that Firecrotch knew and a smile gradually started to stretch his mouth and that just made Mickey want to kiss him, so he bit down on the inside of his mouth.

"Okay," Ian breathed out, his fingers stroking through the sides of Mickey's hair and making the ex-con shiver. "Okay," he repeated and then after a deep breath pulled back and it was like he had to tear himself away. Mickey almost wanted to hold on.

Ian stepped back then, a wide smile practically splitting his face in two. Mickey had never understood how the guy could do that. How the hell he could smile at Mickey, especially back in Chicago when nobody had ever wanted to do anything of the sort before. Rolling his eyes, he followed Ian back out into the chaos of the bar, counting the heartbeats echoing in his ears and knowing that every single one of them stupidly belonged to the redheaded idiot walking in front of him.


	23. Chapter 23

Ian knew that Mickey's words had been an invitation, had practically been a dare. So he didn't hesitate to go straight into Mickey's room and dropped down onto all fours, peering down into the gloom that was under Mickey's bed. There were stray socks, a pair of boxers, some cigarette ends and a crumpled dollar bill, but pushed right back against the wall, so far back that Ian had to crawl under to reach it was a small box.

He was ashamed to say that his hand shook as he took off the lid. Ashamed because he knew how gay it was to be worried about the contents of a box. It was dusty and sort of battered looking, like Mickey had carried it around for a long time. Maybe he had done. If he'd bought it when they worked at the Kash and Grab, Mickey would have had to have taken it to Juvie with him.

Nestled inside the box was an ID bracelet, thick and chunky, masculine looking. The silver gleamed despite the quality of the box and he when he removed the bracelet, he could make out the word 'Firecrotch' engraved onto the inside. The front was plain, but what struck Ian was that it was real silver. It wasn't any sort of knock-off and it had probably been the most expensive thing that Mickey had ever bought.

He ran his fingers over the letters engraved onto it and awkwardly fastened it around his wrist, smiling a little stupidly at the weight of it and how cool it felt against his skin. He almost felt like he wanted to cry, which was stupid, but it was because this had been everything he had ever wanted from Mickey. He'd never needed anything physical, he'd never needed anything expensive or shiny, or anything like that. He'd just needed Mickey to do something that would show that he wasn't. . . well that he wasn't just a warm mouth. And this was a lot more than he ever could have hoped for. It was weird to think that something as simple as an ID bracelet could have changed the entire way that their lives panned out.

Ian probably would have joined the army, Mickey wouldn't have gone to Juvie for a second time for the reason he had – because who was Ian kidding, he would have gone to Juvie again at some point – and Ian probably would have made sure that they'd still been together, clinging on in there. An ID bracelet would have stopped Ian from letting Mickey walk out of the store to go kill Frank, it probably would have stopped Mickey from ever leaving. An ID bracelet would have saved his heart from breaking, it would have stopped Mickey slitting his wrists and Ian being Cole's personal punching bag.

Something so simple would have changed everything, because it would have been the world.

Ian didn't thank Mickey with words, he didn't have to. It said it all just to wear the bracelet, not that Ian thought he was ever going to take it off ever again. He didn't care what happened, if he left New York and never saw Mickey again. He was never going to take the bracelet off.

But saying that, Ian still couldn't resist cornering Mickey later on, when everyone else was asleep, Cole passed out on his front in bed. Ian slipped out from under the sheets and padded through into the living room wearing nothing but an ID bracelet and his boxers. Mickey was leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping a beer, obviously waiting because even though the ex-con would never want to admit it, he knew Ian far too well.

Ian grinned like a fool when he saw Mickey standing there, dressed in just a pair of pyjama bottoms and Ian's fingers itched to touch that dark trail of hair that lead south from Mickey's bellybutton. Mickey rolled his eyes and set the beer down quietly, bracing himself against the counter a little.

Of course, Ian didn't miss the way that Mickey's eyes lingered on the ID bracelet and Ian could have sworn that his lip twitched, threatening to smile. "Mickey, I love you," Ian blurted out, trying to be serious. Except it didn't really work out because Mickey moved faster than Ian thought was possible and clamped his hand over Ian's both before he could get the last two words out, so really all he said was, "Mickey I –"

And he could have been about to say anything, he could have been saying he was tired or hungry, or  _something_  except he hadn't been and Mickey had known that.

"Don't you dare," Mickey said, his face pressed close to Ian's, Ian's backside hitting the table and he sat down heavily, bringing him to about Mickey's height. Which for some reason made him smile against Mickey's hand. "Don't say it."

He just stared at Mickey, attempting to say nothing until the ex-con peeled his hand off of his mouth. He didn't step back, which Ian was glad for because he wasn't ready to let Mickey go. Having Mickey so close to him was comforting in a way that he was sure had to be completely fucked up. It made no sense at all; and yet it made perfect sense. He put his hands on Mickey's hips, pressing his fingers into the bare flesh and sliding his thumbs under the edge of Mickey's boxers, pushing them against Mickey's hipbones. He'd always loved Mickey's hipbones, which he knew that the ex-con was aware of, but had never understood. Ian had always used to suck, lick and bite them before sucking Mickey off.

He hadn't ever explained because really, how did you make someone understand just how sexy their hipbones were? He knew Mickey would only have scoffed and insulted him, so he'd never said anything. He wanted to keep his thoughts about Mickey's hipbones completely unmarred and un-mocked.

"I will eventually you know," he said, Mickey's hands settling on his bare chest, his fingers arching like he was trying to hold on to Ian. Maybe he was. Ian knew he was holding on. What he didn't know what where the confidence bubbling up inside of him came from. "Just like you'll give in and kiss me eventually."

Mickey pulled a face, his fingers flexing against Ian's chest. Ian thought it was stupid how adorable Mickey looked with his nose scrunched up and his eyes narrowed. He almost looked like a child, almost innocent for no reason at all, even though thinking of Mickey as innocent was the stupidest thing that Ian would ever do. He liked the idea that the chances of Mickey ever having used that specific face around anyone else were slim. "I know," he muttered, sounding resigned and that just made Ian grin like a fool.

"Shut the fuck up, Firecrotch," Mickey muttered, rolling his eyes, but Ian just tipped his head back and laughed low under his breath. They had to be quiet, because he was all too aware that they weren't alone in the apartment. And yet at the same time it felt like they were in their own little bubble.

Maybe he and Mickey always had been. He didn't really know.

"You're an idiot," Mickey said, licking a line under his jaw, because Ian knew he wanted to bite him. Normally Mickey sank his teeth into Ian's neck or under his jaw whenever Ian said or did something that annoyed him. It was a subtle retribution that just turned Ian on, something Mickey was all too aware of. But that couldn't happen, because a bite mark would have been something all too obvious, it wasn't something Ian could have been able to explain or hide. He had a feeling that was why Mickey wasn't digging his nails into Ian's chest, why he was just pressing his fingertips there reasonably gently.

Except Ian didn't have to have that consideration. He ducked his head, swooping in to drag his teeth over Mickey's collarbone. He bent awkwardly, closing his mouth over one of Mickey's nipples and sucking hard before teasing it into a hard peak with his teeth. Mickey's fingers pushed into his hair and held him in place, because it seemed that Mickey still had a serious thing about his nipples. It wasn't something he broadcasted, Ian knew that, but Ian had worked it out pretty quickly and he loved that it was one of the fastest ways to make Mickey come undone at the seams.

"Fucker," Mickey gasped out and Ian could hear his teeth snap together to clamp down on any noise that threatened to emerge from the ex-con's throat.

Ian laughed quietly before pulling back, staring into Mickey's face and knowing his smile was cocky. "I have to go," he said regretfully, smoothing his thumbs over Mickey's hipbones again. He didn't want to go. It felt like he was tearing a part of himself out, but he also knew Mickey would look after it, no matter what he said to the contrary.

Mickey nodded silently and took a step back, his fingers trailing from Ian's hair, down the sides of his face and neck and then brushing his chest before finally leaving Ian's skin completely. Mickey would never say the words that were obviously in his head, but that didn't matter, because it was all being said in his eyes.

He lurched forwards when Mickey looked like he was about to break off the contact completely, like he was about to take that step that would force Ian to remove his hands. He darted in and pressed a kiss to the corner of Mickey's mouth, not even a real kiss, except that was exactly what it was.

Mickey's eyes went wide before narrowing quickly. "Did you just fucking kiss me?" he asked, growling the words out through his teeth.

Grinning like a complete idiot, Ian walked around the table, moving backwards to that he could keep his eyes on Mickey's face at all times. He just looked shocked. "Yepp," he said proudly, wishing more than anything that when he reached his door, there wouldn't have been another man on the other side of it. Except there was.

He thought the biggest problem though, was that he didn't feel at all guilty about the man that he wanted to be with being on the other side of the door. Chances of that ever happening though, were slim. Because Mickey would probably shy away from a relationship even if he did care and he doubted Cole was going to be willing to let him go easily. And that just wasn't something that was worth the fight unless he knew he actually had something to fight for with Mickey.


	24. Chapter 24

Lip stood in the doorway to the room he was sharing with Mandy and watched the scene in front of him with wide eyes. Neither his brother or Mickey noticed him and he hoped to God it stayed that way, even though he didn't think either would care too much if they knew he'd seen.

He peered through the crack in the door, watching Ian sweep in and plant a kiss on the corner of Mickey's mouth. It hardly even counted as a kiss, especially in Lip's books. He'd had better kisses off of strangers and this was two people who had so much history it was fucking unreal. And yet, the feelings in the room, the sheer weight of them were threatening to choke him and he could feel the grin on Ian's face without even having to see it.

"Did you just fucking kiss me?" Mickey asked, his eyes going wide and then narrowing as he considered the guy that he so obviously loved. Lip sometimes wondered how Ian had never just seen it, because it was so obvious. And he wasn't just saying that because he knew how far Mickey would go for the guy.

The way that Ian said, "Yepp," was just positively proudly. He walked backwards and Lip closed the door a little more so that he wouldn't be noticed, peering out through the crack at where Mickey stood still in the kitchen. He looked stunned, but the moment the door shut and he thought he was alone, Mickey relaxed completely. A slow grin spread across his face and he stared at the door for a minute, scratching the back of his neck.

And Lip could have sworn that Mickey was blushing ever so slightly.

He'd never seen Mickey look like that. Had never seen him look so genuinely happy. Because with the grin on Mickey's face, he couldn't be feeling anything else. He fidgeted about for a second, licking at the corner of his mouth and then with a last glance at the door and a smile that felt almost secretive, Mickey jumped over the back of the sofa. He landed on the cushion and Lip saw his head tip back, staring up at the ceiling.

Mickey breathed out a long, slow breath and scrubbed his hands through his hair, the expression on his face amused. He huffed out a laugh, like he didn't know what the fuck was happening, but didn't particularly mind it and that was when Lip shut the door. He eased it closed and stepped back a little, not wanting to intrude on Mickey's private moment of revelation or whatever the hell the ex-con was having.

Crawling back onto the bed, he curled his body around Mandy's and snuggled closer to her, breathing in the scent of her skin that had becoming far too familiar for him. Not that he was complaining. He figured he'd pee later, when the Mickey was finished acting completely un-Mickey like.

He knew he'd only get punched anyway if he went on there now. So really, he was just protecting his face. Because Mickey always went for the face, every single fucking time.


	25. Chapter 25

"Don't let us out until I say so," Mickey said as he stepped into the cage and rolled his shoulders. He was going to fucking enjoy this, he already knew. He could feel the adrenaline and the pure need pounding through him, addictive and intoxicating.

He looked at the person standing opposite him in the cage and grinned. He knew it wasn't a nice smile. It was nothing close, but from across the room he also knew that Ian could recognise all the implications of that smile. Because there was a  _reason_  Mickey was in this ring.

Mickey didn't even wait for the bell to ring. He just lunged forwards.

That morning Cole had seemed to decide that he was getting comfortable and had decided to grow the balls to mouth off to Ian in front of everyone. Apparently as far as he was concerned, Ian and Mickey's fight had been nothing but a lucky win, because if either of them were put up against real trained martial arts fighters. Fighters like him apparently.

Ian hadn't said a word, hadn't tried to discourage the situation at all, which only spurred Mickey on. It only made him challenge the guy, because Mickey had been looking for an excuse to kick his ass and now he had the perfect one.

None of the others look particularly worried, except Lip. And that was probably understandable, because Mickey thought Lip probably suspected on some level what was happening between Cole and Ian. He'd never said anything, but Mickey thought he suspected. Yet, more than that, he knew how far Mickey was willing to go.

Which was exactly why he backed Mickey into a corner not long before the fight and stared at him in that stupid impenetrable way that he had to have picked up from Mandy. "Don't take it too far, Mickey," Lip warned him, rubbing the back of his neck out of habit, because Mickey knew he wasn't actually nervous. Lip had stopped getting nervous around him a long time ago.

He shrugged, "I'm not going to fucking kill him if that's what you mean."

Lip rubbed at his mouth and his fingers twitched with the obvious need for a cigarette. "That wasn't what I meant actually no," he said, sounding exasperated because apparently he had just worked out exactly how much damage Mickey wanted to do to Cole, "Just don't put him in a coma or some stupid shit like that, we don't need attention being brought to you."

And Mickey wasn't stupid. He understood that. He'd pretty much lived on the straight and narrow, cutting the illegal shit right down to the bare minimum. He didn't need the cops to find him interesting, he didn't need them to start digging into his past and he certainly didn't need anyone to connect him to Firecrotch in that they could work out that Mickey had a habit of defending him. That couldn't happen, because Mickey didn't want to go to jail. He would if he had to, he'd probably fit right in, but he didn't  _want_ to.

Then again, nobody ever  _wanted_  to go to jail. Except maybe that one time he'd put himself in Juvie on purpose. But he'd had his reasons. Mickey always had his reasons, it just so happened that a lot of the time nobody could really see the logic in them.

"I won't," Mickey said, smirking, "I'm not an idiot, dude, seriously."

Lip rolled his eyes, "I know." He'd actually learnt that Mickey was kind of reasonably smart. He just didn't give a shit about school and stuff. That was the difference.

Ian didn't speak to him before the fight, or really since the challenge had been uttered, but Mickey would meet his eyes sometimes from across the room and the blind faith that Ian obviously seemed to have in him made Mickey feel strange inside. It made him want to smile at the same time as it made him want to throw up. So Mickey just did neither and looked away quickly. He'd sort out whatever the hell was happening now between him and Gallagher  _after_  he'd beaten up his boyfriend into a pulp.

He doesn't know what's happening between them now because it never happened like this before. It was never subtle touches under a table that weren't in any way sexual, it was never small smiles being given from across the room or just the comfort that could be taken from fingers knitting together and squeezing tight. There had never been that warm feeling that spread in Mickey's stomach whenever he saw the bracelet around Ian's wrist, the one that he knew Gallagher hadn't taken off since he'd found it and the one he knew Gallagher probably never would take off. It had never been about how that made him feel, but all of a sudden it was.

This wasn't in his comfort zone, he knew that. In fact, it was so far out of his comfort zone that he was just going off of guesses. It was like wading through darkness. He didn't know how to do any of it, it was all too confusing. So he just told himself not to think about it. He told himself not to think about how the soft kiss Ian had pressed to the side of his mouth hadn't been anything like the rough, hard touches that they'd grown accustomed to with each other. None of this was about sex, none of it was even about lust. It was all about love and longing and need and it freaked Mickey the fuck out. But he didn't let that show, he  _couldn't_  let that show. Because if he did he thought he might maybe lose whatever was hanging between them, connecting them still, because it was as fragile as a piece of thread. It would be so easy, so simple for Mickey to shatter it and he would have done if Mickey didn't know how terrible he was at fixing broken things.

He knew that from experience. He knew that because he'd shattered a vase once and had spent four hours trying to glue it back together, but he couldn't make any of the pieces quite fit right. Mickey was good at breaking, at demolishing and ruining, he wasn't any good at mending things. So his theory was that if never got broken, he didn't have to even try to fix it.

He was going to stick to that theory. And he was going to stick to it by turning his confusion into anger and turning his anger on someone that he definitely didn't give a shit about breaking.

He kept the image of Ian's scared, wide eyes, his bruised face and the chewed up bottom lip in his mind, like it was burned into the back of his eyelids, he kept it there as he landed the first punch. And the next. And all the ones after that. Because that was why he was doing this. For Gallagher. For Ian. That was why when he took a fancy kick to the side of the head he didn't even groan, he just rolled and made it back onto his feet, throwing himself at Cole in a way that was practically possessed. And he thought that maybe in that moment he was possessed, because this felt like revenge. The sting on his knuckles and the blood running from his cut lip, that felt like and tasted like revenge and it was glorious. It was so incredibly addictive that it made Mickey want to defend Ian against something every day. Except he hated the idea of that, because he hated the idea of something wanting to hurt Ian every day.

Mickey ducked a blow from Cole and caught him in the stomach with his fist, making the guy double over. He laughed and spat out blood, dancing back a little bit because he was fully intending to soak this up. He wanted to enjoy this as much as he possibly could. He sidestepped Cole's tackle, noting that the guy was getting sloppy now. He was running off adrenaline by this point and Mickey knew it wouldn't be much longer until he just dropped. Mickey on the other hand was far from being done. He was running off of anger, practically _flying_  off of it and he'd always found that in the past, anger made you last longer.

Because anger meant you had a reason.

Mickey dragged Cole close when he rebounded off the other side of the cage when Mickey sidestepped him. He head-butted the guy hard, hearing a crunch that implied Mickey had broken his nose. He could add that to the list of broken bones since Mickey was pretty sure he'd broken one of the guy's ribs and a finger or two as well. He wasn't sorry in any way.

Most fights in the cage lasted only a short time, the longest being with Ian, but this one, this one lasted a lot longer. And it was pretty obvious that that was because Mickey was toying with Cole. He knew he had all the time in the world, so he kept dancing around Cole in a way he knew was pissing the guy off.

"Still think you can kick my ass?" he asked, his voice low enough that it sounded dangerous, but not so quiet that only Cole heard him. He wasn't ashamed at all of people discovering that he was taunting the guy.

He was pretty sure he heard some people laugh at the idea that Cole thought he could beat Mickey.

"Fight's not exactly fair," Cole wheezed out, doubled over.

Mickey kneed him in the face, holding the sides of the guy's head and dragging him back up to his level. "And was it fair when you hit Ian?" he asked, this time keeping his voice low enough that nobody else had a chance of hearing him, but he knew Cole did. He knew from the way that his eyes widened a little and the guy definitely seemed to understand exactly what was happening here. He had some brains in his skull, Mickey had to give him that.

He tossed Cole across the cage, rubbing at his bottom lip and not even bothering to wince at the face he bothered the stinging cut there. Cole stayed slumped against the floor, his back leaning against the cage wall and his head tipped up so that he was staring at Mickey with blurry eyes. Mickey thought it was pathetic, even more so given how battered Cole was. Not that he was quite battered enough for Mickey's liking, but then the only way that was ever going to happen would be if the guy was in a body bag.

He crouched down, a foot either side of Cole's thighs and he cocked his head to the side slightly, spitting blood out and considering the man in front of him. "Just so you know," he said, holding Cole's chin between his thumb and forefinger to keep his head up and squeezing hard. The pussy winced. "You ever hurt him again and I will make you wish you were never even born, comprendé?"

And he didn't even wait for an answer, just punched the guy in the face one last time and stood up. "Let me the fuck out," he said to the guy on the cage door, who was looking at him like he was unhinged mentally. Maybe he was. He thought he was probably going to get into some shit with Keeley over this, but he didn't care right then. As far as Mickey saw it, he was defending what was his. Even if it wasn't  _technically_  his.  _Technically_.

He took special care not to look at Ian at all as he went into the back to get cleaned up. He didn't need Gallagher following him right then. He just needed time to process everything and to make sure he calmed the fuck down enough before he faced people. He thought he was going to puke and he was pretty sure that had nothing to do with the kick to the stomach he'd taken. Nothing. At. All.


	26. Chapter 26

"You do know you just beat up Ian's boyfriend, right?" Katy asked, because of course she was oblivious, to everything. Mickey loved her, because someone had to, but she was still oblivious. But then, in that moment, it seemed like everyone but Lip was. Lip just looked smug in that way that only a Gallagher could really pull off.

Mickey shrugged, "I was aware, yeah."

He didn't think he wanted to expand on that if he was being honest. He didn't want to have this conversation because he didn't want to own up to anything that he shouldn't. He knew from the look in Lip's eyes that he was telling him to be careful. The arch of his eyebrows, the set of his mouth, it was a warning and Mickey wondered when he'd started to learn things like that about Lip.

"Isn't he going to be pissed about that?" Tessa asked, handing him a large shot of vodka to help numb the pain in Mickey's jaw. Cole could fight, he'd give the guy that. But he fought reasonably fair, which for a complete scum bag – who deserved to die painfully in a hole all alone where no one would ever find him ever again, not that Mickey was biased or had been thinking about it or anything – was strange. Mickey had never been a fair fighter though, growing up in Southside Chicago, where nobody was fair about anything, it had been necessary to learn how to see any openings possible. And he'd learnt and it had come in useful. More than useful.

The satisfaction that he was feeling was unnatural. It was almost like he'd been waiting for that one fight for all of his life. Like he'd been waiting for the chance to defend Ian in front of him for all of his life. What he had already done to defend Ian, that didn't count. Because Ian didn't know about it, hopefully would never know about it and Mickey wasn't quite sure if he was proud of it or not. He tended not to think about shit like that. But this, Mickey was definitely proud of this.

It felt fucking amazing to be able to think that he'd kicked Cole's ass.

What didn't feel amazing was the confusion over Tessa's question. He didn't know whether or not Ian would be pissed. He had seemed like he almost wanted it to happen before the fight had taken place, but now Mickey wasn't sure if that had changed. Ian wasn't anywhere to be seen, hadn't been sitting with the others when Mickey had come back out from cleaning up and resetting his dislocated finger.

So he just shrugged, "No clue, probably."

Although the look on Lip's face suggested that maybe Mickey had been wrong thinking that. And that made him feel better, that made him almost want to smile. He didn't, but he almost wanted to. Instead he just smirked into the pint Tessa gave him.

The rest of the night passed just like all of the others had done. It was relaxed, easy, almost  _too_  easy. Except that there was always those thoughts hovering on the edge of Mickey's mind. Thoughts of Ian. Ponderings. He wondered where Cole was, if Ian was with him now, if Ian was tending to him, kissing him better. He wondered what Ian was thinking, if he hated Mickey now. He wondered where they stood now, where they had even stood before. He wondered what he wanted to do, whether or not he should just run and be done with it. He wondered and wondered and wondered and he could feel himself going mad from the pressure of his own thoughts.

Mickey tensed up when someone latched onto him from behind, except that his body instinctively knew that touch. Ian propped his elbow on Mickey's shoulder, his fingers pushing into the top of Mickey's hair and the other arm came down over Mickey's other shoulder, Ian's fingers curling around his side. Gallagher pressed his cheek against the side of Mickey's neck and breathed heavily, sighing.

Mandy laughed at the sight of them and when the others turned around, they did as well. Lip just smirked. "How much have you had to drink?" Mickey asked the redhead, not really complaining in the slightest what was happening, even though he knew he should because Ian's battered boyfriend was around here somewhere. He couldn't help but feel smug though that Gallagher was here with him and not Cole, even if it was just for the time being.

He thought it was weird asking that question because he knew that Gallagher was drunk just from the fact he was touching Mickey in public, from the fact he was being that daring, but he couldn't remember seeing Ian drink anything more than a beer. Although, that had been from across the room when he'd been getting into the cage and who knew where Ian had been after the fight, or what he had been drinking during it.

A quick sideways glance at Tessa made it clear that she hadn't been supplying him with the alcohol, which made Mickey wonder. But he didn't say anything. He didn't think it was his place, because he'd lost count of the number of times Mickey had been drunk or high off of his ass in front of Gallagher. Admittedly though, they had been teenagers, so it had been a little different.

"Jus' a lil' bit," Ian slurred out, his mouth right by Mickey's ear and his voice doing things to Mickey that should have been fucking illegal.

"Where's your boyfriend Ian?" he asked, trying to stop this shit before it even fucking started. He had to remind himself not to smile, because they were in fucking public and his sister was  _right there_. He hated that it was difficult.

Ian made a disgruntled sort of noise in Mickey's ear and Mickey smirked so that he wouldn't smile. "Fucker wen' t' the 'mergency room," he mumbled, leaning on Mickey almost completely for support now. Mickey didn't mind at all, but he tried to pretend he did, even though that was stupid because everyone knew that if he had given a shit he would have just pushed Gallagher's ass onto the floor.

"Pussy," Mickey muttered and Ian laughed, which wasn't very subtle at all as to his feelings towards his boyfriend. He wondered – not for the first time – why the hell Ian was even with him. He was guessing it was for a completely fucked up reason.

"Yup," Ian giggled, actually  _giggled_ and Mickey groaned inwardly as something in his head clicked. Something in his memories.

He twisted, hearing Ian whimper as he moved out of his grasp, but Mickey turned quickly enough that Gallagher didn't fall over. Or at least that Mickey caught him when he stared too. Ian put his hands on Mickey's shoulders and Mickey held his face firmly, staring into Ian's eyes. Ian giggled again and Mickey swore under his breath. "Seriously, Gallagher?" he asked, rolling his eyes, "How high are you, scale of one to ten, seriously?"

And he knew he wasn't going to get a serious answer, he just  _knew it_. He could see the logic in Ian's expression starting to fade. Because there was a thing that not many people knew about Ian and that was that while the guy just got relaxed and fucking hot looking when he was high, all red-faced and glassy-eyed. When he'd smoked  _a lot_  and it was mixed with alcohol, specifically whiskey, Gallagher got fucking loopy. It was something about that particular combination, just something about it that made Ian lose his marbles. He went all giggly and got ridiculously clingy and if Mickey was mean, he  _cried_. Like actually  _cried_. It had only happened once before, during that kind of nice phase they'd been through when Mickey had been out of Juvie the first time and working at the store. They'd gone to the dugouts, but ended up lying on the grass of the baseball diamond getting high and drinking a bottle of Jack Daniels that Mickey had swiped.

It had tasted horrible, or at least that was Mickey's opinion, because he fucking hated the taste of whiskey, but it was booze, so he drank it. He drank it, but he didn't fucking  _guzzle it_ like Ian had done that night. It was only when Ian had started laughing, all out of control and stupid like that Mickey realised he was something more than just high. Because yeah, they'd smoked a couple of joints as well, just because they had them and if they didn't smoke them then, some fucker from one of their families was going to swipe them. That was just the way it went.

Gallagher had laughed and then curled up against Mickey,  _cuddling_ , there was no other word for it. And in true Mickey style, he'd freaked out because he didn't know how to deal with that. Except when he'd gotten up, yelling, " _What the fuck!"_  Ian had proceeded to burst into tears. And because Mickey was stupid and not quite cruel enough to leave him alone there like that because there was no way Gallagher would be able to find his way home in that state, he went back to Ian and as soon as he'd sat back down next to him, Ian had been fine again. Just like that. Simple as.

And after that, after sneaking a giggling and giddy Ian into his room during the early hours of the morning and letting him curl up around Mickey, cuddling again, Mickey made sure to never let Gallagher near any Jack Daniels ever again. Whiskey was off the cards, completely off the table. As in,  _never being drunk in Mickey's presence ever again_. He didn't think his sanity had been able to cope with that, even though Ian was actually pretty funny when he was in that state. He had a habit of biting and coming up with completely random excuses as to why the hell he was biting Mickey. Which was fine, because the biting kind of turned Mickey on and it had led to some amazing sex, but they didn't have that anymore. They weren't in that position anymore, so while the randomness could happen, Mickey felt an ache at thinking that nothing else was going to.

"'m righ' up there wid da monkeys," Gallagher muttered, which of course made zero sense, but answered Mickey's question well enough. Now that they were close enough to each other, face to face, Mickey could smell exactly what Ian had been drinking.

"Gallagher, the fuck did I say about whiskey?" he asked, keeping a tight hold on Ian's head because the guy was looking like he was getting some funny ideas and he was looking at Mickey's neck again in a really weird way.

Ian blinked, trying to remember obviously. Either what Mickey had said, or maybe he was trying to remember how to talk at all. Both were viable options. "Es malo," Ian said, looking pleased with himself at his use of Spanish, which amazingly came out less slurred than English had done.

Mickey snorted.

"I wan' more, Mick," Ian told him and Mickey made sure to give him his most incredulous look.

"Not happening," he replied, more serious than he had ever been before. Because they'd been through this. This wasn't new and Mickey did not want a repeat performance of last time. "Am I the only one who remembers what fucking happened last time?"

And he wouldn't be surprised if he was, except Gallagher seemed to have the freakish ability to remember everything, no matter how drunk he got. Ian got this look on his face then that said that he knew exactly what happened last time, but he wasn't thinking about the same part Mickey was – or at least not the part Mickey wanted repeating out loud, because he'd be lying if he said he didn't think about that night, the sex had been fucking amazing – and so Mickey nipped that shit in the bud with a glare. He did  _not_  need Ian running his mouth off in this state, especially not after Mickey had just beaten his boyfriend to a pulp.

"You almost got us fucking killed, Gallagher, so you're not drinking whiskey again,  _ever_."

And Ian looked like he wanted to argue that point, his mouth opened and closed a few times, but then he seemed to get distracted somewhere along the line and ducked in too quick for Mickey to stop him and bit down underneath Mickey's jaw. He giggled again, "Ima prinara," he muttered and Mickey rolled his eyes, "You mean a piranha," he corrected, holding Ian's head again, firmer this time.

Ian was grinning dopily and Mickey didn't even want to know how the hell that thought process had come about, although he thought it had probably had something to do with the opening and closing of his mouth. He tried to lean in closer, but when Mickey's hands on his head stopped him, Ian instead resorted to pulling Mickey closer and then murmured in his ear, "You taste nice." And he was actually quiet, it was actually a whisper, the words hardly slurred at all and Mickey had to roll his eyes, it was impossible not to.

"So you've said before, Firecrotch," he replied in a low voice, even though technically it had been years since Ian had said that. He didn't really think his taste had changed though, sweat was sweat at the end of the day and what Ian was definitely tasting was sweat. And then Mickey made the smart decision to take the suffering that he was no doubt about to endure out of the public eye. Even though he knew that back at the apartment it was probably only going to be worse.

"Come on," he muttered, dragging Ian's arm around his shoulders when he stood up, supporting him almost completely because Ian just seemed to forget how to stand and fall against him completely. Mickey gripped his wrist to keep him in place, probably hard enough to bruise, but Gallagher didn't complain. "I'm going to take him home," Mickey told the others, because he wasn't going to bother broaching that with Ian since it wasn't up for negotiation.

Lip nodded since he had been the one that Mickey had been looking at.

He tried not to focus on the way that Ian was absently rubbing his head against the side of Mickey's, kind of like a cat. It was weird, but not completely unwelcome, which was also weird.

"We'll stay here for a bit probably," Lip said in a tone that implied they that was exactly what they were going to do. Mickey was grateful, because it gave him a chance to detach Gallagher from him before he said anything that Mickey would regret him having said later. "It's not even that late yet."

Mickey nodded and then he was moving, half dragging and half carrying Ian out of the club. He had never been more glad that he didn't live all that far away. "Mick, les' go star gazin'," Ian mumbled, pointing up at the sky, which was completely dark, not even a single star visible.

He smirked, "Not happening even if that were possible."

He was pretty sure that what he saw out of the corner of his eye was a pout.

"I wanna puppy," Ian announced next, a little louder than before. People looked at them weirdly, but whether it was Mickey's battered face or the fact he was obviously supporting Ian, Mickey didn't know, but they looked away pretty quickly.

"Well then get a fucking puppy, Gallagher," he replied, knowing from past experience that it was better to just answer Ian when he was chatting on random crap like this, "You're an adult in case you forgot, and you're more fucking responsible than Mandy is and she has a bloody kid."

Ian laughed at that, but Mickey wasn't entirely sure that he had understood what Mickey had said.

"I wanna pink one," Ian said, his speech improving a little bit, although he was dragging the words out in a way that was incredibly annoying and hilarious all at the same time.

"I don't think they do pink ones," Mickey said, hoping he sounded reasonable because he didn't need Gallagher throwing a fucking tantrum in the middle of the street or anything. They weren't far off of the apartment now anyways.  _Just a little longer_. "How about a black one?"

It felt like he was dealing with a child; and Mickey was no good with children.

"I'ma call it Samp. . . Samp. . ." Ian frowned, for some reason not being able to say the name that was obviously going to be Sampson properly, "Ted," he settled on in the end, "I'ma call it Ted."

Mickey choked out a laugh as he pushed his key into the door and they staggered inside. "That's nice, Gallagher," he said in a low voice, kicking the door shut behind them and not letting go of Ian for even one second, "Now, we should probably try and sober you up or some shit."

He risked looking at Ian for the first time since they'd walked out of the club and noticed he was sort of pale looking, his skin taking on a green tint. He swore, pretty loudly actually and only just managed to shepherd Ian into the bathroom before he crashed to his knees in a way that had to hurt, right in front of the toilet.

Mickey pulled a face as Ian retched up the contents of his stomach, the strong acrid smell filling the room and he quickly opened the tiny window to try and help the stench. He just knew it was going to fucking linger anyway. But then he'd smelt worse living in Chicago with his Dad so it shouldn't have disgusted him that much.

He didn't know what to do, so he just stood hovering awkwardly and reached in to pat Ian on the back a few times. He averted his eyes while Ian retched, waiting until the sounds of something hitting the water inside the toilet stopped. Ian spat a few times and Mickey finally looked down at him.

Ian moaned, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand and Mickey helped him up from where he was knelt on the floor, handing him his toothbrush already laden with toothpaste and grunting, "Fucking brush, because you stink now."

And Ian didn't even seem to have the energy to argue, he just did as he was told, the sounds of running water and him brushing his teeth the only ones to fill the silence. The apartment was weirdly quiet and it sort of freaked Mickey out, except he couldn't take his eyes off of the redhead in front of him. Ian moaned in relief when he splashed water onto his face and then stumbled backwards a bit, trying to sit on the edge of the bath but ending up falling in in the end. There was a little water in the bottom, but Ian was still too out of it to notice, blinking sort of sleepily up at Mickey, looking so incredibly stupid and so damn cute all at the same time.

Mickey didn't know why he clambered into the bath after Ian, not even complaining when Ian sprawled lengthways instead of sitting awkwardly jammed up with his feet against the edge of the bath. Mickey didn't know why he lay down next to Ian on his side and true to fashion in his current state, Ian curled up against his back, throwing an arm around Mickey's waist and their legs tangling. And Mickey let him. He didn't know why he let that happen, but he blamed it on the fact that he was too fucking tired to even bother trying to move Gallagher. Especially since in the clingy mood he was in, Gallagher would have made them end up like this anyway.

He knew that. But he didn't know what the fuck that meant.


	27. Chapter 27

Lip found them when the rest of the group staggered home in the early hours of the morning. They all moved off to their respective bedrooms, more than a little bit drunk, none of them even noticing that Mickey's snores weren't coming from the couch.

The only reason Lip even went into the bathroom was because he wanted to try and scrub the fuzzy feeling off of his tongue that came from drinking too much. And he didn't even notice at first, because the first thing he did was not to look into the bath when he walked into the room. He spotted them in the mirror, when he was standing there brushing his teeth.

They were both oblivious to the water that was still in the bottom of the bathtub, darkening the bottom of Ian's jeans where his long legs were cramped up a little because Ian was too tall for his own good and certainly too tall for that bath. The position that they were in didn't look at all comfortable. Mickey was lying more on his front than his side, an arm around Ian and his face pressed into the side of Ian's neck and Ian was half on his side and half on his back, his face turned up to the ceiling, but his torso twisted. One of his arms was jammed in between them out of sight, no doubt underneath Mickey and the other was snaked around to splay his palm against the bottom of Mickey's back, pushing up the back of his shirt. Their legs were tangled together messily, in a complicated sort of way that made it seem like they were trying to make it impossible for each other to escape.

Mickey was snoring softly and drooling a little bit, but Ian didn't seem to notice. Just like Mickey didn't seem to care at all that the hand against his back was twitching repeatedly. They looked weirdly content and at home like that, even if they were jammed up in a mess of limbs in a bathtub in a way that was going to make sure their muscles hurt like a bitch the next day when they woke up. It was sort of sweet and really fucked up all at the same time and Lip didn't know how long he stood and stared at them.

Because he didn't know what that was supposed to mean. Sure, he knew how Mickey felt about Ian, after what had happened and the display of aggression and possessiveness earlier that day, it was impossible to forget. He'd  _known_  how Mickey felt, but he'd never actually known how Ian felt. Sure, he knew that he still had a bit of a thing for Mickey, that he'd never really let him go, but that didn't mean that Ian loved him still. Or even liked him.

And Ian had a boyfriend.

Except this, this spoke of emotion. It could have just been something that had happened because they were drunk, or at least there was something the fuck up with Ian. Except, Lip hadn't missed the way that while in that state, Ian instantly latched on to Mickey. He hadn't missed that and he didn't think the others had either. It was like it was automatic for Ian to do that, instinct or something and it was sort of sweet. But only sort of, because it was still weird.

He knew what Mickey had done for Ian, he knew what had happened between them, but his brain still hadn't quite managed to form an image of it actually  _happening_. He'd never seen it, never had an image to associate with them other than associated events. But this, this was real, this was something. It was definitely an image and he was just glad that they both had clothes on.

Lip was smart though and he noticed pretty quickly that they were clinging to each other. Actually clinging. In a desperate sort of way. It wasn't just the tangled legs, it was the arms locked around each other, the muscles that seemed to be tensed up even though they were both asleep and should have been relaxed. It was the fingers gripping each other to them, digging into flesh, Ian's twitching like he had to keep checking that Mickey was there.

Lip supposed the image was sort of sweet and maybe not so bad after all. Sort of.

It made him want to smile.

Except before that, he was trying to work out how the hell they had gotten into the bathtub in the first place. He didn't think he was ever going to get an answer to that, he wasn't even sure that he wanted one actually.


	28. Chapter 28

When Mickey woke up, it was only for a minute or so and it was pretty safe to say he had never been so comfy in his life. Which was stupid, considering he had a redhead practically lying on top of him and his arm was twisted in a really sort of awkward way. Mickey was half on his back, with Ian curled up beside him, over him. The redhead's fingers were twisted in his shirt, gripping and keeping Mickey close to him and the other was behind Mickey's head, the fingers of that hand in Mickey's hair. And Mickey could feel his fingers clenching, his fingernails scraping against Mickey's scalp unintentionally. Mickey had an arm around Ian's back, holding them together and the other was gripping Ian's thigh, the one that was thrown over Mickey's waist. His other leg was tangled up completely in Ian's and he could feel the muscles in Ian's legs twitching, gripping him.

The heat that was coming off of Ian's body should have been unbearable and his back hurt like a bitch, but he didn't care, not right then. Because he was uncomfortably comfortable. He was relaxed even with the throbbing in his aching limbs, even with the heat pressing against him and the knowledge that this should have been awkward, that he shouldn't have been letting this carry on. Ian's face was tucked into his neck and Mickey could feel his breath against his skin and that, out of all things, was what Mickey focussed on. He couldn't stop himself, that was all he could notice. It stopped him panicking, stopping him pushing Ian away and running from his own apartment. Those simple breaths and the heartbeats he could feel beating against his skin,  _Ian's heartbeats_.

Ian nuzzled his face in tighter to Mickey's neck and Mickey could have sworn a tongue darted out to taste his skin, but he must have been imagining that.  _He_   _had to have been._ Yet he didn't think he was. He flexed his fingers on Ian's thigh, letting him shift it up higher, knowing that Mickey's morning wood was pressing into the other guy, but he wasn't quite sure if Ian was awake or not and it didn't really matter. Ian had been up close and personal with that part of Mickey's anatomy plenty of times.

This time shouldn't have been any more different, except it was. It definitely was. Because not only did Ian have a boyfriend, but they weren't even intentionally doing anything sexual. This, this clinging to each other, it was nothing but raw need. It was practically desperation, the way that they were clutching each other close, stopping all chances of escape, blocking each other and blocking themselves as well.

And Mickey never wanted to admit it, but he knew that he never wanted to move. He would have stayed there forever if he could have done. In the past, when they were teenagers and everything had been fast and dirty and easy, with nothing other than where they were going to fuck to worry about. Back then, they hadn't ever really had moments like these. Mickey had never allowed them. It hadn't been about sleeping with each other, it had been about fucking and denying that they wanted to actually  _sleep_  with another person lying beside them. Mickey would have killed for a moment like this back then, but chances were he also would have been killed, because if someone had walked into this, seen this, it would have been the death of Mickey.

This was soft and tender, this was intimacy. And Mickey hadn't ever wanted intimacy with another guy. Not until Ian had come along. And even then, he hadn't wanted it. It had just seemed to happen anyway.

Back then, back when this wasn't allowed, they'd only slept in the same bed a few times. Mickey could count them on one hand and they had been accidental, they had been moments snatched because of a particularly long or brutal fuck. They had been stolen moments of time only allowed because Mickey was too tired to remember to complain. And in those moments, Ian had always wrapped himself so tightly around Mickey that it wasn't even cuddling, it was  _clinging_. It was digging his fingers so hard into Mickey's flesh that it made everything seem real. It had been desperation to never let go, the big reveal of emotions in such simple actions. It had been perfect and weirdly, brutally tender and it had been exactly what this was now.

 

Except right then, they had actual emotions and past mistakes piled on top of them, weighing them down and making them cling harder. Moments like these were still being stolen, still being snatched, because they still weren't allowed. Just for different reasons now, because Mickey thought for a moment that he would probably admit and accept happenings like these if he had the chance. If he had that option.

And that was why Mickey didn't push Ian away, that was why he didn't wake the redhead up and make him move. That was why Mickey just closed his eyes again and pulled Ian in closer, held him tighter and decided that the real world and all their do's and don'ts could fuck off for a little while longer


	29. Chapter 29

Contrary to a lot of quite popular belief, Mandy wasn't stupid. Sure she didn't have any fancy degrees or an amazing grade point average in school, but she was smart. In her own way, she was smart. And she liked to pride herself on being pretty damn observant. And yet nothing, quite literally  _nothing_  could have prepared her for what she saw when she walked into the bathroom that morning. Mandy wasn't an idiot, she wasn't stupid, but she had had absolutely no idea about this, none at all.

She kept replaying the words in her head from that night, about Ian being drunk, about Mickey apparently having experience in that area. About there being a ' _last time_ '. But Mandy hadn't thought it would have led to something like this. She wouldn't have thought it would have had anything to do with anything other than sort of strained friendship. She hadn't even really thought of them as friends, acquaintances more than anything. They knew each other, simple as.

But what she saw in that bathroom wasn't just acquaintanceship.

Ian had his face tucked into Mickey's neck and a leg over Mickey's hips. His fingers were in Mickey's hair and his shirt and Mickey's arms were around Ian, a hand at his back and a hand on his thigh, holding him in place. They were clinging to each other, like the world was falling out from underneath them and they just needed something to hold on to. Like this was necessary, like it was just them in their own little bubble, locked away from the rest of the world.

They looked peaceful, which was a weird thought considering that they were in a bath, wearing crumpled clothes and Mickey had dried drool on his cheek. Both of them looked rumpled, clothes a mess, hair amuck. Ian's shirt was pushed up at the back so that Mickey's hand was pressed against bare flesh and Ian's grip on Mickey's shirt, bunching it up a little meant that part of Mickey's pale stomach and abs were visible, the trail of hair that travelled downwards.

As she watched, Ian shifted a little and Mickey's hand instantly clamped down on his thigh, pulling him back closely again, regaining the closeness that had been lost when Ian had shifted. And in response, Ian did nothing other than flex his fingers in Mickey's hair and move so that he was a little bit more on top of Mickey than he had been before. His face pressed a little more against Mickey's neck, nuzzling and Mandy knew she wasn't imagining the smile that she saw turning up the corner of Ian's mouth.

And yet they were both still asleep. She could tell from their breathing that they were both still asleep.

If Mandy hadn't known that her brother was gay before, she definitely would have known then. But that was the thing. It hadn't really seemed real before that moment. Sure, she'd been questioning him about it, reaffirming it, making him say it over and over again, but she'd never  _seen_  it. And the image she had in her head of seeing her brother being gay wasn't anything like this. Because this wasn't harsh or brutal, it was soft and gentle and tender and it was so completely raw that it made Mandy want to cringe. But it also made her want to smile as well.

But she was also mad. Mad because this was her brother and her best friend. The best friend who okay, she may be married to his brother but was still a little bit in love with. Maybe a lot in love with, but that was fine because Mandy had accepted a long time ago, had  _seen_  a long time ago that Ian was gay and therefore she just had to deal with it. But seeing that, seeing this, it was almost too much. She didn't know how to deal with it, she didn't know what to think of it. She didn't know if this  _thing_  that she was being confronted with had had a past, or if it had a future or if it was just one of those things that had happened in a drunken moment. She didn't know and Mandy didn't like not knowing. It confused her.

She tried to picture them dating, tried to picture her brother happy and smiling and in a relationship with Ian. With anybody, but most of all with Ian. Mickey wasn't the relationship sort of type, but she knew he was possessive and selfish. And she wondered if Mickey beating Cole up in the cage last night had been evidence of that. She wondered what that told her about the situation. If it told her anything at all.

Mandy wasn't an idiot, she wasn't a genius like her husband, but she was smart in her own way. She loved her brother and she loved her best friend more than she was supposed to. She had no problem at all with either of them being gay, even though a teenage her would have killed for Ian to be straight. Mandy wasn't an idiot, she knew that if what was in front of her had a future, she would grit her teeth and deal with it even though she knew it would be the weirdest and potentially hardest thing she'd ever have to do.

Mandy wasn't an idiot, Mandy was actually pretty smart, but right then, she was completely out of her element. She didn't know how to deal with that. But she also didn't want anything to happen to either of them, she didn't want anything to ruin what they could be building between them and so when she heard someone let Cole into the apartment, she reached over and switched on the shower, letting the water rain down on them and ducking out of the bathroom right as she heard Ian's yelp and Mickey's curse.

No, Mandy didn't know how to deal with whatever that was in there. She didn't think Mickey knew how to deal with it either. Because they were Milkovichs at the end of the day and the tenderness that had been displayed right then in that bath had supposed to have been bred out of them. Apparently it hadn't been.

Even though Mandy didn't know how to cope with seeing that, she knew that as a Milkovich, it was blood before anything else. And as her best friend, she had to protect Ian as well. So she would, she'd keep her mouth shut and she'd keep Cole away from that bathroom while they sorted out whatever the fuck had gone on between them.

She'd let them do that, she'd do what she had to do and then when they went out that night she was going to drink her weight in alcohol to try and drown out the thoughts and images in her head. Yeah, that was what Mandy was going to do. She thought it sounded like a pretty good plan


	30. Chapter 30

They woke up coughing and spluttering, the tangle of limbs making it difficult for one of them to get free to stop the water from raining down on top of them. And somewhere in between Mickey's first attempt to stand up and Ian's third, they started laughing. They started laughing with hands clamped down over each other's mouths to stop the sounds from bubbling out. It was laughing in muffled undertones, with chests and limbs shaking, eyes leaking tears and breath puffing against wet palms.

It was laughing to relieve the tension, because they hadn't laughed like this before. Not really. They'd wanted to, they'd needed to, but they hadn't done. Not like this. They'd laughed almost like this once, when they were carefree and a little bit high, when the sprinklers had come one while they were lying on the baseball diamond. They only seemed to be able to laugh when something was raining down on them, when water was involved.

They ended up with Mickey lying mostly on top of Ian, between his legs and those stupid skinny jeans that because of the water were now plastered onto him even more like a second fucking skin. They had ended up like that because somewhere during the time when their laughter was relatively controlled and individual, Mickey had stood up to try and turn off the water and he'd actually gotten pretty decent footing. He'd been upright and controlling the fact he was upright until Ian had kicked at his ankles and caused him to slip, his back landed solidly with Ian's front and causing the air to be knocked out of both of their lungs. And then they were laughing, Mickey twisting as Ian's hand clamped over his mouth so that he could do the same to the redhead. And then Ian's hand had slid away when Mickey had pressed his face into Ian's wet shoulder, his hand still muffling Ian's laughter.

He could feel Ian's heartbeat, erratic and strong underneath him and nothing had ever felt as good as that right there. And now that Ian's hands were free, he wound his arms around Mickey's back, holding him in place like Mickey actually wanted to fucking go anywhere anyway.

Mickey's tongue flicked out and tasted the skin of Ian's neck while he was drawing breath for another laugh and he didn't know why he did that. He had no reason at all. But Ian's laughter stuttered against his palm for a second and the only reason Mickey heard his laugh was because they were pressed so close.

"He's not here Cole," Mandy's voice reached them through the door and they both froze in unison. The laughter cut off, died completely and Ian's fingers dug into Mickey's back like he was afraid. It made Mickey want to growl and he lifted up a little, pressed the fingers of the hand that wasn't over Ian's mouth into the redhead's hair. He scratched Ian's scalp lightly with his fingers, remembering from when they were teenagers who Ian found that soothing. He didn't know why, he had never asked, he just knew. "He went out to get some breakfast or something and I doubt he'll be back till the end of the day."

Mickey had never loved his sister as much as he did in that moment, especially when they both heard Cole huff and leave the apartment again.

Beneath him Ian relaxed, his fingers stopped digging into Mickey's back and Mickey could feel the redhead grinning against his palm. He slowly removed his hand and stared down at him and Mickey hated how goddam beautiful Ian looked right then. He was red faced and still sort of sleepy looking and the bruise on his face was faded, but still there. The freckles splattered across his nose stood out against his pale skin and Mickey was close enough to count them all, he had done once when they were younger, while Ian had been asleep and Mickey had been too comfortable to move. Ian's short hair was wet, water droplets clinging to it and his skin was shining, as was the look in his eyes.

Mickey didn't know what Ian saw when he looked up at him, but from Ian's expression it wasn't a bad thing. Mickey didn't know how he felt about someone looking at him like that.

"Your face is so fucking stupid," Mickey said, his voice low and the insult not even an insult at all, because he was actually smiling and then he closed that small, barely there distance and for the first time pressed his mouth against Ian's. And he didn't know why then, he didn't know why at all, his only excuse was that he wanted to.

Before he shut his own eyes, he saw Ian's blow wide and then the redhead was kissing him back with a ferocity that surprised Mickey and probably himself. Ian's hands clawed at Mickey's back, pushing up underneath his wet shirt, peeling it away from his body so that he could fit his hands in. And Mickey's hands seemed to be everywhere at once, they carded through Ian's hair, held his face, tilted it to get better access into the warm cavern of Ian's mouth, ghosted down over Ian's sides, felt the muscled torso and arms, squeezed a thigh and brought a leg up and around his hip. He tilted his hips forwards, grinding slow against Ian as the kiss picked up in tempo.

There was nothing but raw emotion, raw  _need_  there between them, but there was none of the haste or the desperation that had usually dominated their actions. It was perfect, which Mickey thought was a stupid thing to think, but it didn't stop it from being true.

He didn't know which one of them moved first, but somehow they ended up sitting, Mickey's back against the side of the bath, his knees raised so he could fit into the narrow space given that he was sitting sideways. Ian was straddling him, his narrow body just fitting into the space left between Mickey's legs and his body. Their crotches were snug against each other and the water was cold as it rained down on them, but Mickey didn't mind too much, because Gallagher's flesh was hot under his hands and he knew that the redhead was thinking something sappy about kissing in the rain. He just  _knew it_.

He pressed his hands against the bottom of Ian's back, lifting the t-shirt up and off and only breaking the kiss for a moment. He wanted access to the hot flesh, he wanted to feel it warm and wet under his hands. And Ian didn't complain in the slightest, he helped in fact and then pulled roughly at Mickey's own shirt and the message was clear enough.

Ian's laugh ghosted into his mouth again before they crashed back together and he didn't know what was funny, didn't think even Ian did. It didn't even matter.

Mickey didn't know how long they stayed like that, but somewhere along the line they switched off the water and peeled off wet jeans and boxers and their positions were reversed. Mickey had dug a condom out of his dripping wallet and lowered himself onto Ian's cock, hands clamped over each other's mouths again to stop the noises slipping out.

This was more intimate than they'd ever done it before. But it felt  _right_. After everything that had happened between them, everything that had and hadn't been said, after this last week, Mickey didn't know how this moment could have happened without it being intimate. That scared him, but he liked it as well. And honestly, with how well Ian filled him up, with how the constant pressure against his prostate felt with Ian at this angle, he wasn't even close to being able to form any sort of protest.

The hand that wasn't over his mouth rested on his hip and in return Mickey gripped the back of Ian's neck, gripping the short strands and pressing their foreheads together as he slowly started to ride Ian. It was slow, almost torturous and Mickey couldn't take his eyes away from Ian's face. His head was tipped back a little, eyes closed and even though his hand was covering it, Mickey knew that his mouth was open.

Mickey's orgasm crept up on him like a surprise and he moaned brokenly into Ian's palm, clenching the younger man tight with every muscle he could as streaks of white spurted up in between them, mixing in with the water on their chests. Ian came a heartbeat after Mickey was done, while he was coming down and he wrapped his arms tight around Mickey, pulling his hand away from Mickey's mouth and forcing Mickey to do the same. Ian's teeth clamped down on his neck and if it had been at all possible, Mickey knew he would have gotten hard against just from that.

Ian's body jerked and he didn't even seen to be able to find the voice to moan. He just shuddered against Mickey, clutching him tight and then suddenly he relaxed, the tension in his muscles unwinding. He dropped his head against Mickey's shoulder and huffed out a laugh.

"Shit," Mickey muttered, the sound coming out with his breath and making him sound so fucking needy it was stupid. But he was too relaxed to care. He hadn't been fucked like that since he was a teenager, since Ian had last fucked him, which was ridiculous, but still true.

Ian just grinned when he looked at him and Mickey couldn't even summon up the willpower to smack him one for it. He'd do it later. . . or not . . . it didn't really make all that much difference if he was being honest.


	31. Chapter 31

Ian didn't know how the hell that happened if he was being honest. He hadn't expected it to and he had also fully been expecting Mickey to backtrack almost immediately. He'd been expecting for Mickey to mark it as a mistake, to walk away, to practically run. But for some reason, he didn't. Mickey stayed put where he was, his forehead resting against Ian's shoulder and Ian's dick still in his ass.

He could feel Mickey panting against his skin, both of them wet and sticky and Ian could feel an addiction for this seeping into his bones. This was the sort of thing he craved, the sort of thing he had always craved. And the thing was, it only seemed to feel better, more satisfying considering he'd never thought this was the sort of thing he could have. Not from Mickey anyway.

And there was that edge to it, the edge that told him how this was wrong. He was with Cole, he wasn't supposed to be doing this. He wasn't supposed to be  _enjoying_  this. But he was. And he had to admit that it was more fear than guilt that he felt. Every time he went down that path with his thoughts though, he cut himself off thinking:  _But this is Mickey._

This was the person he felt like he'd been waiting his entire life for. Which was stupid, but still what he felt.

Mickey looked so fucking content when he finally tipped his head back, turning his face up towards the ceiling and sighing out a breath. Ian couldn't take his eyes off of the arch of Mickey's neck, of all that pale flesh stretched out before him. It was like some sort of reveal, Mickey baring his throat like that. Even if it wasn't intentional. Ian knew it wasn't, it was just Mickey working a kink out of his neck.

The ex-con yawned slightly and scratched at his chest, finally meeting Ian's eyes and Ian knew he was holding his breath. He didn't want to think about what the expression on his face must look like, because all he could think was:  _this is it, this is where he walks away_.

Mickey wiggled a little bit on Ian's lap and then rubbed at his bottom lip with a thumb. "You wanna get some fucking pancakes or something, cause I'm as hungry as fuck and there's a place just down the road?" Mickey asked him and Ian could have sworn Mickey even looked a little bit nervous. Which was stupid, because Mickey wasn't like that, not at all. "Cause I don't really wanna cook, too much fucking effort."

Ian would admit that Mickey had changed in the time he'd been away from Chicago, which was a weird thing to think considering Mickey fought in a cage for money. But it was like that adrenaline, that way of expelling his anger let him be calm for the rest of the time. It was like all Mickey had ever needed was to just get it out and then the person that was left behind was actually more of a simmering flame rather than a roaring torrent of flame.

He could feel his cheeks heat up, because it was almost like Mickey had asked him out on a date. Except he hadn't. Mickey was just hungry.

"Earth to Firecrotch," Mickey said, snapping his fingers in front of Ian's face, not looking like he was getting ready to lift off of Ian's lap at all. Mickey's fingers pressed into his jaw and when their eyes met Ian couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. Mickey just rolled his eyes, unimpressed and Ian thought that maybe nothing had changed after all.

"Hmm?" he asked, putting his hands on Mickey's hips and digging his fingers into his skin a little, just so that he could cling on. Just for a little bit longer.

Mickey smirked at him, like he knew exactly what effect he was having on him. Knowing Mickey, he probably did. "Food," he said, "I'm fucking starving."

"Are we going to talk about what just happened?" Ian asked, because he felt like the hope that was building in his chest was just setting him up for inevitable heartbreak. . . again.

Mickey watched him for a minute and then stretched, his chest pressing closer to Ian and his back cracking loudly in the silence of the bathroom. "What do you think is going to fucking happen?" he asked and Ian wasn't sure what he was supposed to think of Mickey answering his question with a question. Normally that was the sort of thing that Ian did.

He shrugged, because he honestly didn't know. Or maybe he did, but he didn't want to face that possibility. "That we're going to walk out of here and you're going to want to pretend that this never happened," he replied honestly and Mickey's expression was unreadable. He was looking at Ian like he was the biggest idiot in the world. Maybe he was, but Ian honestly wasn't understanding why Mickey looked so surprised.

Because he was giving Mickey an out. All Mickey had to do was nod and then that would be that. And in a way Ian would understand, because Mickey hadn't wanted to be lumped with Ian way back when, so why would he want to be lumped with him now. Especially considering Ian felt a lot more broken than he had used to be.

"Way to use your fucking brain, Gallagher,  _seriously_ ," Mickey snorted and stood up and Ian practically whined from the loss of contact. Because when Mickey stood, he completely pulled away from Ian, stepping out of the bath and using a towel to wipe at the stickiness coating his body. Anybody else would have just had a shower, but not Mickey, Mickey just wiped at it and then rolled his shoulders, tossing the towel into the hamper in the corner.

Ian could see all of the different options flitting through Mickey's brain. He could see him deciding whether or not he was going to run, whether or not he was going to leave just like that and walk away. He knew that that was what Mickey's default reaction was, what Mickey was practically  _programmed_  to do. Which was why he was surprised when Mickey turned back from the door, a pair of boxers he'd scrounged from the hamper – because he was classy like that – hanging low on his hips.

He looked gorgeous in that way that was just completely Mickey. Ian knew that maybe Mickey wouldn't do it for a lot of people, but there was just something about him that was so addictively beautiful it was stupid.

"After everything I've fucking been through because of you, do you really fucking think I'm just going to throw my hands up and walk away again?" Mickey asked and Ian wanted to say that honestly, yes, yes he did. Except there was something in Mickey's expression that made Ian wonder again what the hell Mickey had done. He'd obviously done something, something that he didn't want to talk about, but that only made Ian want to know more.

The conversation with Tony's cousin, someone Mickey had already apparently known kept playing through his head over and over again.

" _Because in the jail you said –"_

That one line kept him trying to drag up the thoughts of what Mickey had been inside. And not in Juvie either, in jail. He'd been in for GBH, Ian remembered that. He remembered that it was something to do with Mandy because of how guilty Mickey had felt about it all.

" _They healed up pretty well."_

Mickey slitting his wrists. This had something do with Mickey slitting his wrists. Mickey had already told Mandy that it had nothing to do with him being gay. He'd said he'd done it for, " _Shits and giggles,"_ but the lie had been written all over Mickey's face. He'd done it for a reason, he just was refusing to share what that reason was. That doctor, he knew why Mickey had slit his wrists and he'd talked about staying away from Ian, which meant it was probably something to do with him.

" _Blood loss and sedatives will do that to you."_

Why did he keep clinging to that one line? Why was it that that one line kept running through his head? Blood loss obviously was referring to what Mickey would have lost when he'd slit his wrists. That bit made sense, so why did he keep clinging to the fact that Mickey had been sedated?

" _Nobody has a fucking clue who did it, Ian," Tony Markovich explained, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, "There was only security cameras outside the door and it shows nobody leaving the infirmary room other than nurses and all of them checked out to be clean. The only other person in the room was another inmate, but he was sedated and out of the question."_

Ian knew his eyes had widened and he probably looked incredibly fucking stupid, but his mind was slowly putting it all together.

" _Blood loss and sedatives will do that to you."_

" _That guy was a lifer anyway."_

"Fuck," Ian swore under his breath, standing and dragging his hands through his hair.

" _What I did was called revenge."_

" _It's fucking done, Gallagher, so just drop it."_

He'd had a feeling it had been bad, but he hadn't expected Mickey to have done anything near this bad. He wasn't stupid, he knew what Mickey was capable of. Lip had said to him once that out of all the Milkovich's he didn't think Mickey was capable of killing. That was back when Ian had told him about Mickey's attempt on Frank's life. When Lip had said that, Ian had known he was wrong, because Mickey was more than capable. Mickey was more than capable because he had this determination, a fire inside of him that was constantly burning. Mickey wanted to live, even if his life was shitty, he still wanted to live. That was why Ian had been so surprised when he'd heard that Mickey had tried to kill himself.

Except he hadn't. Mickey hadn't tried to kill himself at all. Ian had felt like he'd known that all along, but he'd never believed for a second that Mickey had been suicidal. Ian knew Mickey. He knew what he was capable of, how far he would go to defend himself. He knew Mickey better than most people, possibly better than anyone. But Ian hadn't had a clue what Mickey would do for him.

Sure, Mickey had beaten up Cole in the cage with a sort of venom that was akin to a man possessed, but that hadn't made Ian realise. Not really. He'd just thought Mickey had been pissed that the guy was a douche. And back when they were teenagers, Mickey had defended Ian sometimes, jumped in to help in fights that Ian obviously wasn't going to win, but Ian had never really thought much about that. He'd never realised how far Mickey would take defending him.

He'd been searching for evidence that Mickey had cared for so long that he'd managed to overlook obvious things. Ian had been looking for shows of affection to prove it. When really, all he had to do was open his eyes.

"It was you," Ian said, but it didn't come out like an accusation. It didn't sound like one at all. It was just a statement of fact, as simple as that.

Mickey flinched and that was all Ian needed to see to know he was right. But of course he was right. It all fit. Mandy had said she'd gone to see Mickey the day he'd tried to kill himself. She said he'd told him about what had happened to Ian, but Ian hadn't really thought too much about that, hadn't thought it had meant something. When really, if he had looked, that would have been like the beginning of a timeline that stretched out in front of him.

And Lip. Lip knew. He knew that Lip knew. His brother was smart, he would have worked it out and he would have told Mickey to get the hell out of Chicago, to cover up his tracks and stop anyone getting suspicious. So Mickey had left and Lip had kept in touch, they'd become friends because of course Lip would be grateful. Just like Ian was grateful.

Maybe it was sick, maybe it was twisted to be grateful for someone dying because of you. Except, Ian had never claimed to be innocent. Sure, he'd wanted to go off and join the army, but he was still a kid from Southside Chicago, he still had different morals than the rest of the world. And this, this just proved it to him. This just proved everything he had ever wanted to know.

Mickey cared. Mickey cared more than Ian could ever have imagined.

He could see it all now, could see it all written on Mickey's face. But he could also see the worry, the fear of rejection now. Mickey flinched again when Ian lurched forwards, like he thought Ian was going to hit him. It took a few seconds for Mickey to realise that Ian was kissing him, brutally smashing their mouths together, seeking out all the heat and the emotion and all the possibilities that were spread out between them in one kiss.

Mickey's fingers dug into Ian's sides and he pressed against Ian tightly, not even complaining once that Ian's nails were biting into his jaw. Mickey's hands slid around to press flat against the bottom of Ian's back, mashing them closer together. The kiss was messy and brutal, with the clash of teeth and the slick wet slide of tongues as they both battled for dominance.

"I won't get caught," Mickey panted against his mouth when they drew back a fraction, "I was careful, I won't get caught."

It was like he thought Ian doubted him, like he thought Ian needed to hear the words, to have that reassurance. Ian nodded roughly and kissed Mickey again, pushing his fingers into the back of Mickey's wet hair and gripping tight.

"I won't," Mickey promised, neither of them pulling away any more than a centimetre or so.

"Mickey, shut the fuck up," Ian replied, never thinking he'd have to say that before. But seriously, Mickey was talking too much for his liking. He didn't want to hear about the past, he didn't want to hear about what could happen, about the things that they still had to sort out. He didn't want to hear about anything. He just wanted to pretend for a moment that the rest of the world didn't exist, he wanted to live right then in that moment with Mickey's flesh hot under his hands and Mickey's taste clogging up all of his senses.

He just wanted that. Wanted it more than he had ever wanted anything before.

Wanted it so much that he didn't even realise he was crying until he could taste salt on his tongue as well as Mickey's strong, unique and so incredibly addictive taste. Sort of like stale cigarettes and the beer he'd drunk hours ago. It shouldn't have been nice, it shouldn't have been nice at all, but it was the best thing that Ian had ever tasted. The best thing he would ever taste. And then there was salt mingling in with it all and Mickey's hands were on his face, roughly pushing away the tears. He didn't ask why they were falling, neither of them needed an answer to that question.

Mickey just pushed them away and carried on kissing him. Because that was the thing, the thing that Ian hadn't realised and yet had always known. He knew Mickey better than anyone, but that was because not many people wanted to spend the time getting to know Mickey. Ian knew Mickey better than anyone, but the evidence that Mickey knew him just has well had always been staring him in the face. He'd just never realised.

And that right there was what made Ian feel like an idiot, because he'd always been searching for something that he been staring him right in the face. Typically though, he'd just never realised it until the very last minute.

"Stop thinking whatever the fuck your thinking," Mickey muttered, his hands now gripping Ian's ass and their hips slowly grinding against each other. It was lazy and perfect. It was effortless.

Ian huffed out a laugh and bit down on Mickey's bottom lip, not even thinking to complain when Mickey pinched his ass in retaliation. Really, the guy had killed for him, he didn't have much that he could complain about.


	32. Chapter 32

Mickey had to keep kicking Ian under the table of the little diner they went to. The guy kept grinning like an idiot and it was distracting. Mickey couldn't quite work out what the hell had happened, not that he'd say he was sorry for it. They'd fucked, that bit he didn't mind in the slightest and then suddenly Gallagher went from spewing a load of crap about how Mickey was going to want to pretend that that had all never happened and then he was apparently putting the pieces together and calling Mickey out on what he had done.

It had left Mickey reeling, especially given that he'd expected Ian to be disgusted, to storm off, to hate him. But no, Gallagher was apparently still as fucked in the head as ever because all he'd done was kiss Mickey like his entire life depended on that action. And, Mickey knew it was probably the gayest thing ever, but he didn't care. Not right then, because it felt like the entire world was slipping back into place.

And really, who wouldn't think that when they had a naked Ian Gallagher trying to kiss all the oxygen straight out of his lungs. They'd fucked again, apparently both still having the recovery time off teenagers. It had been fast and hard and dirty against the bathroom wall, with Ian biting down on Mickey's shoulder and Mickey biting down on his own forearm. It had been exactly like all those years ago, except it hadn't been the same at all.

And eventually they'd made it to the diner Mickey had mentioned and both were demolishing stacks of pancakes from the all-day breakfast menu. It was weirdly domestic and perfect and it had something coiling inside of Mickey's stomach. He would have thought it was him wanting to hurl, but he thought maybe it was contentment. Because, this was actually what he'd always wanted, even if he'd never admitted that.

Just him and Ian, no bullshit and no pretences. At least not between the two of them. Sure, to the outside world they probably just looked like friends and they'd never be the sort of couple to ruin that image. They'd never walk down the street holding hands, they'd never do anything outrightly gay in public, but that was because what they had was their business. It was theirs and theirs alone. It wasn't worth ruining over anything stupid.

Even Mickey could acknowledge that.

"Fuck off," Ian snapped at him, hitting his forearm with a sticky spoon when Mickey leant across the table to try and swipe Ian's last pancake.

Mickey scowled at him when Ian rammed the whole thing in his mouth, syrup dribbling out of the corner of his mouth. He sucked the stickiness of his forearm with his eyes on Ian and something seemed to crackle in the air between them that had them both smiling.

"So," Ian said, smirking ever so slightly, "What do you think of kissing now?"

He settled back into his seat and looked at Mickey over his coffee cup, obviously not thinking that Mickey was going to answer if the look on his face was anything to go by. "We're really having that fucking conversation?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and seriously having to resist the urge to snort.

Ian shrugged, "Couldn't think of another topic."

"So naturally you just decided you were going to talk about something random," Mickey replied and it wasn't a question. He already knew that Ian had some serious issues when it came to silence. He'd long since resigned himself to the fact that being near Ian Gallagher was most likely going to result in serious earache, but the guy made up for it in other ways and if Mickey was being completely honest, he didn't mind how much Ian talked.

Ian pulled a face at him and Mickey kicked him under the table, because he couldn't quite decide if that had been childish or just  _really fucking gay_. "So right," Ian said, apparently having come up with a new topic in the space of a minute – surprise surprise – "I was thinking I might stick around here you know, New York I mean, because I don't exactly want to be working at the Kash and Grab for the rest of my life and fighting pays better than most other jobs I can think of."

Mickey stared at him and he wouldn't admit that this time the reason he didn't open his mouth was because he was too afraid of what he'd say when he did. He wanted to ask if that meant Ian was sticking around. He wanted to ask what the hell that meant for the two of them. Except, he didn't want to ask those questions at all. Just like he didn't want to ask about what was happening with Cole or how Ian felt or any shit like that. Mickey was all for burying his head in the sand and only having to deal with shit when it actually had the balls to come up and bite him in the ass.

Problem was, Gallagher always seemed to be one for having balls where other people wouldn't – surprisingly no pun intended – and he definitely had no problem biting Mickey in the ass.

And those really weren't thoughts he wanted to be having in the middle of a diner for fuck's sake because he was started to get a damn boner. He swore there was just something about Ian that made him feel like a teenager all over again. It was stupid.

"You have a weird look on your face," Ian commented, chewing at his bottom lip, "Does that mean you'd rather I didn't stay here, because I mean I get that, it's been a while and you have your own life here now and you probably don't want me bursting in and messing everything up, which is fine, I completely understand and everything. It was just an idea. I completely get that you wouldn't want me working with you either, because I mean that's probably too much of me or something."

Mickey just stared at him. "What the fuck are you talking about, Firecrotch?" he asked, wondering if reaching across the table and banging Ian's head against the wall would get them kicked out, "We've worked together before and besides, thought we already had a conversation about you saying stupid shit."

Ian blinked, "Wait so you wouldn't mind if I moved to New York then?"

"Stupid question," Mickey commented, slapping some money down on the table before sliding out of the booth and moving towards the door. He glanced back over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow. "You fucking coming or what?"

It was safe to say he'd never seen Ian move so fast in his life. Well, except maybe that time that Terry almost walked in on them and Ian literally leapt into his trousers. "So like what are we doing here exactly?" Ian asked once they were outside, pressing closer to Mickey so that he wouldn't lose him in the mayhem that was people walking. It was lunchtime for most people working – who actually had normal jobs at least – so the streets were packed. It was the only thing about New York that pissed Mickey the fuck off and he had to say it made him glad that his job allowed for him to have a viable excuse to sleep away most of the daytime hours.

"Walking," he replied sarcastically, because he didn't know how else to answer Ian's question without sounding like a complete douche. Or at least without sounding like a complete emotional douche.

Ian snorted, "You know what I meant."

And yeah, Mickey had known what he meant because for one, Mickey wasn't stupid. The only problem was that as he'd already worked out, Ian made him feel like a teenager again. And the issue with Mickey feeling like a teenager was all the stress he'd managed to get rid of just seemed to pile right back onto his shoulders again. He couldn't explain it. He thought maybe it had something to do with the fact that having Gallagher close meant he felt like someone was going to catch him out on something.

But then, he didn't know why the hell he cared. This was New York, Terry was in jail and hated the city anyway so it wasn't like he was going to catch him and Mickey was too old to be living in his father's shadow, to be living in fear of him anymore. It was as annoying as fuck, but Mickey didn't really know how to change. He supposed to first step was acknowledging that he did actually want to be able to be somebody more than a paranoid fuck when he was with Gallagher.

Although he really doubted that anything was going to change the fact that he was more than a little bit rough around the edges and Ian certainly wasn't going to turn him into someone that was polite. But there was just something about being around Ian that always brought out his better side. Or at least the best side that a Milkovich could have.

"Why the fuck are you asking me that, Gallagher, seriously?" he asked, looking sideways at Ian and trying not to see the quick flash of hurt that flickered across his features at Mickey's next words, "You're the one with the fuckhead boyfriend, not me."

And even though Mickey felt like he did have a point, that didn't stop him from wishing that for once he'd just kept his trap shut. He'd only just gotten Ian back, even if it was a small part of him and even Mickey wasn't stupid enough to want to push him away again. Or at least not intentionally. The problem was, Mickey had this habit of forgetting what words could actually hurt and which words wouldn't. It was a difficult and strange existence being a Milkovich.

The thing he was grateful for though was that while Ian seemed to have no problem taking shit from his boyfriend, he didn't let Mickey get away with much. He never had. The only time that Ian had never called Mickey out on his bullshit or punched him for being a complete dick was that one time that had ruined it all. A part of Mickey always wondered what would have happened if he hadn't said that, but then he was pretty convinced he'd be dead in a gutter so he supposed this was the better future.

Ian didn't even hesitate to drag him into an alley, forcing him up against the wall with an arm across Mickey's chest to pin him in place; and that really shouldn't have been turning Mickey on, but it did. He couldn't help it, he could get hard just seeing Gallagher. So he didn't think it was that illogical to have this sort of reaction to Ian being pressed up against him. Especially since Ian when he was angry, when he was red faced and his eyes were all wide looking, well that was just as hot as fuck.

"Fuck you," Ian snarled at him, ever the inventive one when it came to insults of jibes. . .  _not_.

Mickey smirked, "You already did, remember, or is your memory that fucking short?"

And something in Ian's expression seemed to soften at that. Like the fact that Mickey had no problem referring to the fact they'd slept together counted as a win to him or something. Despite that softened expression though, Ian didn't let up on his hold and he even managed to pull off something close to a sneer before his mouth crashed against Mickey's. And really, Mickey would have been pissed that Gallagher was defying the fundamental rule that whatever the fuck they had had been built up on. The fact that  _this whole relationship or whatever was supposed to be a secret_. But then he found that he couldn't really bring himself to give a shit what with how Ian's tongue was sliding past the seam of his lips, hot and demanding as it flicked into his mouth and tangled with his own tongue. It was a battle for dominance, just like everything with them seemed to be and Mickey could taste blood even after just a minute, but he didn't bother even thinking about stopping to find out who's it was. It didn't matter.

Nothing mattered, but the feel of Ian's hands on his hips, his touch practically burning. Or the way that he could feel Ian's erection pressing against him through both of their trousers. Or the fact that he could taste mint toothpaste and syrup and a hint of stale cigarettes on Ian's tongue and that it wasn't in any way disgusting like it should have been. Nothing seemed to matter except the fact that Mickey thought maybe he'd been waiting a long time for this, too long in fact and he didn't know how to admit that, but he didn't exactly know how to deny it either.

Ian laughed when Mickey moaned, dragging himself away and nipping at the exposed column of Mickey's pale throat as the ex-con tilted his head back so that it thunked against the wall behind him. They were both breathing hard and Mickey could feel Ian's breath against his cheek and jaw and Ian still hadn't let go of his hips, but then Mickey hadn't eased up on the hold he had on Ian's shirt either.

"So now that you're not hungry, what do you want to do?" Ian asked, his hand slipping down and squeezing Mickey through his jeans, forcing a choked noise out of the older guy.

"Stupid. Fucking. Question. Gallagher.  _Seriously_!" Mickey snarled out, pushing Ian away from him forcefully so that he didn't come in his pants like he was still twelve or something. Ian looked shocked and maybe even a little hurt for a second before Mickey grabbed a hold of his wrist and started dragging him in the direction of his apartment.

It wasn't quite holding hands, because Mickey refused to reduce them to that level, but he still thought it fucking counted because it was close. Ian knew it was about as close as Mickey was going to ever let it get when they were walking through the streets like this. But hey, Ian knew better than anyone that if he got Mickey horny enough, he'd do a lot of things to be able to get them back to a place where they could fuck.

They didn't even make it to the door of the apartment before Ian had Mickey pressed against a wall, rutting against him in the corridor right outside, his touch branding Mickey in a way that almost felt like a mark of fucking ownership. The thing was, he was too far gone to even think to car.

He just grabbed the back of Ian's head roughly, pushing his fingers through Ian's hair and dragging him in for a brutal kiss. Because even though he'd dodged the question earlier, kissing Ian was better than he ever could have imagined it. Which was what he had been afraid of and undoubtedly why he'd been avoiding doing so for so long. It was addictive and heady and it made him so fucking needy that he felt like he was coming apart at the seams.

It was ridiculous and he couldn't get enough.

He rolled them along the wall, not even stopping kissing Ian for a minute as he fumbled with his keys and unlocked the door behind them. And then he was pushing Ian through, wanting to practically whine at the loss of contact but knowing it was necessary because soon,  _so amazingly soon_ , he was planning on having Ian spread out on his bed, cheeks flushed and eyes wide as Mickey dragged every single ounce of pleasure possible out of him. Mickey wanted to make him whine and beg and moan. He wanted to make sure Ian didn't have a chance in hell of wanting to leave.

He kicked the front door shut behind him, still panting and only just then realised that Cole had Ian pressed up against the entranceway wall, a hand around his throat. He could feel Ian gasping a little for breath, but Cole had him lifted up enough that he had to strain to still get air into his lungs. It would be so easy for Ian to push Cole off, he was stronger and he would have had the element of surprise. Except Mickey knew from experience that it when you were being strangled all instinct flew out the window and more than anything you just kept scrambling at the hand around your throat, trying to loosen it.

Just as Ian was doing right then.

It only took Cole about ten seconds to realise that Mickey had a gun pointed at his head and when he did his eyes went wide and Mickey swore he even went a little green. He laughed, the sound harsh and loud in the enclosed space of the apartment. His aim never faltered for a minute though, he never looked away from Cole even as he laughed. Mickey didn't know a lot of things, but he knew how to handle a gun and he knew how to fight. He knew how to kill; and as he'd already proved, he was more than willing to do it for Gallagher.

"What?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at the person he could safely say he hated more than anyone else. Even Terry and that was saying something. "You don't think I know where the fuck the guns are kept in my own apartment, you really are a dumb shit, aren't you?"

Mickey lived with three above averagely attractive girls who had a tendency for getting themselves into shit. He also lived in a shitty part of New York where break-ins definitely weren't unheard of. That and he was a fucking Milkovich to top it all off. So of course he had guns stashed around the apartment and of course he fucking knew how to use them. The fact that Cole had thought even for a second it was a good idea to try and pull this sort of shit in a place Mickey was so familiar with made him even stupider than Mickey originally thought.

He was seriously starting to worry for Ian's taste in men.

"Right, so here are your fucking options," Mickey said, refusing to look at Ian because he knew if he did, he wouldn't look away and it wasn't a good idea right then to take his eyes off of Cole, "You can either fuck off and never come back or I can blow your brains out all over the wall, it's fucking up to you." And he knew that the look on his face practically said, " _And if you think I won't do it, you're wrong._ "

It really wasn't all that much of a surprise to Mickey how quickly the fuckhead bolted. People who batted around those they were in a relationship were generally the people who were really the most cowardly fucks of society. What did surprise him was how suddenly Ian latched onto him. Arms went around his shoulders and he was jerked close to the familiar heat of Ian's body so fast that his head span.

"Jesus Christ, Gallagher, what part about this meant I was okay with soppy shit?" Mickey growled under his breath, squirming in Ian's hold and hating the fact that the guy just kept on packing on muscle more than a little bit.

Ian laughed, his voice dropping low and doing things to Mickey that the ex-con really didn't want to think too much about for the sake of his own sanity. "How about the part where I suck you off and then fuck you till you pass out?" Ian asked casually, his hands pushing up under Mickey's shirt and ragged fingernails scraping down Mickey's back, making him arch into Ian slightly.

Having to practically force himself to sound nonchalant, Mickey shrugged as best he could while plastered against Ian like he was. "Get the fuck to it then," he growled, his voice cracking just a little bit when Ian's tongue swiped a hot line across his jaw. He liked the pretend that Ian didn't notice that fact though.

But then, Mickey liked to pretend a hell of a lot of things,.


End file.
